Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was the panic that did it.

The man almost killed him. Shot him, beat him, and Steve had no choice. He sent the Winter Soldier crashing down with a well-placed strike of his shield. There was no time. When he told Maria to fire, she said his name, a plea to her tone, one that took Steve crashing back through time. Peggy had pleaded, too, exactly like this, once. And there was no other choice then, and there was no other choice now. He would die. His killer was already drowning in the Potomac, and soon Steve would join him. He was so damn sure this was it. He was ready for it.

In a way, this was history righting itself.

If only it were that easy. Instinct drew him to fight for air, to reach the surface and breathe. He was done with the world, but it was not done with him. Until when? He was so damn tired.

The sky fell around him, debris and fire crashing down, never hitting him. What were the odds?

Mere feet away the Winter Soldier thrashed, drowning. It was taking forever. His mask seemed to be stuck. He pulled on it, struggling to draw breath, sinking and resurfacing, clawing at his face, the panic in his eyes terrible.

Steve's would-be killer. The very worst HYDRA had ever conjured. A symbol of death and everything he stood against. And Steve just couldn't bear it. He was ready to go, but this guy clearly wasn't.

With limbs heavy as lead, Steve fought his way through the devastation between them and grabbed the Soldier's armor, right at the back of his neck.

The shore seemed impossibly far. Some higher power must have wanted them to live because Steve's body kept threatening to give out, but never did.

Once he was finally on the ground, lying on his back, gazing at the falling sky, he was glad he was alive, for Maria's sake. She'd feel like she'd killed him; she'd carry that burden forever. Steve wouldn't wish that guilt on anyone.

The Winter Soldier coughed and heaved by his side, water seeping through the sides of his mask, which he still couldn't get off, not for lack of trying.

Overwhelmed by pity, Steve reached out. "Here, let me—"

Just then, with a wet sound, the mask gave out and fell. The Soldier gasped, his relief apparent even through the desperate retching and coughing. His hair fell forward, wet and muddied, and his robotic arm whirred and clanked with every convulsing shake of his body.

Steve struggled to his feet, acutely aware of the two gunshot wounds to his back. There were no exit wounds.

"Come on," he gritted out, grabbing the Soldier's shoulder, the right one, the human one.

It happened too fast for Steve to react. Or it happened slow and Steve was just slower. The Soldier's robotic arm surged forward and hit at Steve's stomach. The punch didn't knock him back, but inexplicably Steve couldn't move. He stood there, frozen, as the Winter Soldier ran, slow and stumbling, but by the time Steve looked down and saw a handle of a knife protruding from his stomach, the Soldier was already impossibly far.

What an absolute joke. That his life was spared long enough to set a killer on the loose.

Well.

He couldn't die now.

*

"I tried that, you know?" Natasha said, biting into her bagel. She chewed thoughtfully. "Turns out glaring isn't a superpower."

Steve willed himself not to look at her. "I'm not glaring. I'm reading."

"Don't you have eidetic memory?" Sam chirped in, snatching a bagel for himself before Natasha could eat them all.

Natasha followed his movements with a frown. Glaring isn't a superpower, Steve wanted to tell her, but Sam had already demonstrated that by showing the entire bagel into his mouth.

"I'm just making sure we haven't missed something," Steve said instead.

Nat and Sam were right, though. There was no point in going over the same files ten times. Natasha had scraped up a handful of written records on the Winter Soldier that told them nothing except that this notorious assassin was believed to exist by some. Which meant they already knew more than the damn files. Everyone knew more at this point. The Winter Soldier's attack on the three of them was recorded and had spread all over the news and the internet.

They had learned nothing, found nothing. They'd been at it for two weeks, ever since Steve had left the hospital. They holed up in Sam's kitchen because it was the nicest option, bright and spacious. Steve's apartment was badly shot up and repairs were slow. The bedroom had survived, and Steve went there each night, but Natasha had commandeered Sam's couch, claiming she was currently between apartments.

A troubling thought settled deep in Steve's gut: Natasha was afraid. He had only ever known her to be truly afraid of the Hulk, and that was just good sense. If she was afraid of the Winter Soldier, then Steve had terribly miscalculated his threat levels. He hadn't willingly let him escape, but it didn't seem like such a disaster compared to the threat of the Red Skull or an alien attack. Natasha's uneasiness was slowly seeping into his veins and putting him on edge. He expected her to vanish the moment she could, but here she was, lingering, more eager than Steve to catch this man and fix Steve's mistake.

"When you see an injured wolf dying, Steve, you shoot it," she had told him. "You don't prolong its suffering. There's nothing worse than a wounded predator cut from its pack."

She was right. Steve knew it. The Winter Soldier would have been one of many who had died that day. The only thing that separated him from the others was that he was more dangerous than all the people manning those Helicarriers combined. And Steve didn't even have to kill him — he just didn't have to save him.

But honestly, he knew himself well enough to know that if he had to do it all over again, he would have done the same. The Winter Soldier's life was in his hands, and he couldn't make himself take it. He could only regret the pity that had stopped him from knocking the Soldier out cold once they'd reached the riverbank. That was the mistake he had to fix.

"A big fat zero in the papers." Natasha chucked the newspapers aside with a resigned expression.

That meant nothing. Only that there weren't any high-profile assassinations. If the Winter Soldier was as unstable as Natasha believed — a conclusion which appeared to be based on either nothing or some knowledge she wasn't sharing — how were they to know the Soldier hadn't already stabbed a dozen people to death in random back alleys from here to New Mexico? All those deaths would be on Steve.

"Are either of you aware your phones are constantly buzzing?" Sam asked. "I only ask because it's making me homicidal. But, hey, it's cool."

"Sorry." Steve grimaced in apology. "It's just Tony. I don't want to put my phone on silent in case someone calls with actual news."

"But you're not even checking. How do you know it's him?"

"The speed," Natasha said calmly just as three notifications buzzed in quick succession.

Sam nodded, unconvinced. "And we're ignoring Iron Man because…?"

Steve sighed. "He wants us to rally up, go after HYDRA facilities, and do a thorough clean-up."

Sam stared. "That's a good idea. You two do see how that's a good idea?"

Natasha's lips twitched. "It is. And we should and we will. But he wants to go in blind while we have nothing more than hints and theories, because he's bored. He's not taking it seriously. He's imagining a bunch of goons with guns who Hulk can use for baseball bats. I don't want to underestimate HYDRA. If Tony gets actual intel we can use, he'll call." She looked at her phone as another series of messages arrived. "Oh. Actually, we've moved past the topic of HYDRA here. Now he wants to know if a doily is an appropriate gift for Steve's birthday. Because it's, quote, useless grandma crap and could be seen as thoughtful."

Steve frowned. "Tell him yes. Tell him I'm obsessed with doilies and would like nothing better. It's the least harmless thing Tony could possibly buy me."

"Steve." Natasha sighed. "You're just so… That's not how you play the game." She started typing. "Oh-em-gee, Tony," she recited. "That's too embarrassing. Leave him alone." She smirked. "Now you'll get your doilies."

Sam shook his head. "Oh-em-gee was too much. You ruined it."

Natasha actually looked worried. "Nah, it's fine. It's Tony," she decided.

Sam had a comeback. Steve saw him open his mouth, an easy smile on his face, but he said nothing.

Because that was when the kitchen exploded.

*

"Sam," Natasha cried, the sound hollow in Steve's ringing ears.

The smoke made him feel asthmatic all over again, scratching his throat and driving tears to his eyes.

"Sam!" Natasha yelled again, terror in her voice, and Steve looked down to his left where Sam was sprawled on the floor. There was a lot of blood in the middle of his chest. Steve refused to believe his eyes. He had protected Sam. There was no time. It happened in an instant. A whoosh and a boom, almost simultaneous. All Steve could do was flip the table, pull Sam down, and crash on top of him, chest burning with guilt that he went for Sam and not Natasha, that he made that choice, but Sam was closer. He had a better shot of making it. Except, despite Steve's choice, Natasha sounded fine, and Sam was covered in blood.

Sam coughed. "Nat," he wheezed. "Nat. It's not mine."

Oh.

Damn. Steve felt it then, throbbing in his side, getting increasingly worse. He was bleeding all over Sam. There was no time for shock and pain.

"Jesus," Nat said just as bullets started hitting the upturned table. "Sam! The shield! I'll cover you!"

No, Steve wanted to say, I'll get it. But his back was hurting, too. His injuries were more severe than he thought.

He closed his eyes for a moment, tuning out Natasha and Sam. There were multiple shooters. No machine guns. They didn't plan ahead. That grenade should have killed them. Why didn't it? How did they miss? Did they have just the one?

"Can you do that frisbee thing with the shield?" Natasha yelled.

"Nat, no," Steve gritted out. "Front door, now."

"Front door? Steve, they have us surrounded."

"No. It's the middle of the day. They went out back, out of sight, and meant to end it with a single shot. Something went wrong. Sam, front door. Now. Get to the car. Natasha, take the shield and cover us."

Natasha didn't like that plan and didn't seem comfortable holding the shield, but Sam had already pulled Steve's arm over his shoulder, and they headed for the hallway leading to the front of the house.

Natasha cursed behind them and stopped firing. "I'm out," she hissed. Two more bullets hit the shield.

Just two. But how? How were they alive? A grenade launcher and so many guns, and here they were, so close to escaping.

The driveway was empty. Steve would have cried from relief if he wasn't in so much pain. His back felt shredded.

"Steve," Natasha breathed. A glimmer of metal to his left told him where to look. He wasn't even shocked, not really, but seeing the Winter Soldier, standing there in broad daylight, full gear on, mask in place, assault rifle ready in his metal arm, still made his blood run cold.

The Soldier fired and there was nothing Steve could do. The bullet shot past Steve, past Natasha and her raised shield, and hit a man emerging from Sam's house, straight between the eyes.

Natasha didn't seem to care that the Winter Soldier had just saved their lives. She dropped the shield and fired a shot at the Soldier's head.

He deflected it with ease, with his metal arm, and favored Natasha with a quick glare, but Steve was his focus.

"Now we're even," the Soldier yelled.

Steve wasn't sure what made him do it — he never learned to shut up — but he couldn't stop himself from yelling back. "Not if you orchestrated the whole thing to make yourself look the hero!"

For a long moment, Steve was sure the Soldier would shoot him. Steve's foot had already found the edge of his shield, just in case. But the Soldier snarled, half-turned, and in seconds disappeared behind the house.

Everything was silent now.

"Really, Steve? Really?" Natasha grimaced.

"You shot him," Steve said, defensive. "I thought you said you were out."

She shrugged.

"Come on," Sam said. "We need to get you to the hospital, man." He didn't sound that great, either. He didn't look injured, but a better part of his house just blew up. Steve's fault, like so much else.

"Sam, I'm so sorry."

Sam cocked his eyebrow. "For crushing me with that gigantic lump of a body? You should be sorry."

"Your house…"

"Is insured." Sam gave a great sigh, not as flippant as he clearly tried to appear. "Come on. Hospital. Again."

*

Steve was out of it for a day and a half, according to Natasha, who he found in a chair by his side when he woke up.

"Sam made me promise to tell you the only reason he's not here is because I made him leave to deal with the insurance company," she informed him.

What a thing to apologize for. As though Sam owed him anything. "Is that safe? Him being on his own?"

"Tony's got an eye on him. Remotely. A better part of his legion is here in DC."

Right. Tony. Steve shifted, trying not to wince. "How much is he gloating?"

Natasha smiled sweetly. "I deleted your messages and turned off your phone."

"That's very kind."

"Check it out." She stuck her chin out, pointing at a large jar on Steve's nightstand. It was filled with debris. "They got all of that out of your back. There was a hot poker in your hip, but I kept that. Wanna hear something neat? It hit you right where the Winter Soldier stabbed you three weeks ago. What are the odds?"

Steve frowned. His whole body ached. "Define 'neat.' I think I got the wrong meaning."

"You're a damned fool, you know," she said, fondly. "Sam's words."

"I cost him his house."

"You also used your body as an impact shield and saved his life. I'm the one who should be upset. You threw a table at me."

"You're not upset about that," he said confidently.

"It did save my neck, so I'll let it slide." She turned serious. "Sam's fine. I'm fine. Against all odds, so are you. But we screwed up, I hope you're aware. We should have been more careful. We should have seen this coming. Well, the attack at least. Never thought they'd be so bold. A grenade launcher in the middle of the day. Jesus."

"What happened? Exactly."

"Exactly what it looked like. HYDRA tried to kill us and we were dramatically rescued by the Winter Soldier."

It still didn't make sense. "Was it some sort of ruse?"

"In the sense that he forced the situation, just to swoop in? Unlikely. Not his style. That's a jester's move. He hasn't got the flair. The question is: was he following that Hydra cell, waiting for them to strike, or was he following you, waiting — and hoping? — you'd get attacked eventually. My money's on the latter. There was a delay in his response. He killed the guy with the launcher, but a second too late, obviously."

"Are they all dead? Is there someone to question?" Steve doubted it, but there was always a chance.

"I shot a guy's kneecap. He was down. Screaming. Still ended up with the bullet in his head like the rest of them."

Then the Winter Soldier was as ruthless as promised. "What is this, then? Some sort of code? Illusions of honor? He can't stand feeling indebted? I mean, saving my life because I saved his? Okay, I get it. Makes more sense than stabbing me for it. Though, he did stab me for it. But he killed his own. Methodically."

Natasha looked away. "I can't tell you what's going on in his head. Russian assassins can be complicated." She smiled sadly. "Look, HYDRA has suffered a devastating blow. Some of them will keep pushing their agenda, some will defect, some will get confused. All of them are still dangerous."

"You think he's confused? You said it before. Confused and unstable. Why think that? There's nothing in those files to indicate it. Ruthless precision, no room for negotiations, no hesitation. That's all I saw." He tried to catch her gaze. "What aren't you telling me? Do you know more?"

She returned his gaze and held it. "Always thinking I have some deep knowledge of everything, Rogers. I'm flattered."

She was deflecting. Making a point by looking him in the eye, to better sell it.

She wavered under his gaze. "What aren't you telling me? That's a better question," she demanded. "Why did you save him? No, better yet, why did you let him go? You didn't want to watch him drown, I can almost understand that, not easily, after what he did, but, hey, it's your thing. Fine. You went too far, though. Why?"

All right. If that would get him a clear answer. "It's… It was the mask. I thought he wore it to make himself look terrifying. It's effective. But as he was drowning, and couldn't get it off… It looked more like a muzzle at that point. He looked more like a prisoner than an assassin." Steve shook his head. "But I was wrong. He took it off just fine and he's still wearing it. His own choice, it looks like."

"Maybe you were, maybe you weren't. Maybe it doesn't matter." She sighed and stood up. She wouldn't tell him more today. "Look, bottom line? He's no longer a priority. Yes, we should bring him in and we don't have much time, but for whatever reason, he wants to break even, and you wouldn't let him. My gut feeling? He'll try again. I'm not suggesting this lightly, he could change his mind tomorrow, he could be a part of an elaborate plan to get you to trust him, who the hell knows, but we don't have a plan, we don't have any leads, so we deal with what we can. Tony's way. We can't afford to wait for good intel anymore. We have to strike, brute force, check every hint, every whisper. They need to know they're being hunted, or they'll imagine themselves hunters."

Steve still didn't like it. Without solid intel, innocents got hurt, and the bad guys ran away. Brute force search and sweep would only give HYDRA ample warning to burrow in deeper. But he'd almost got his friends killed, did he even have a say anymore?

Natasha was going through the pockets of her jacket. No, Steve's jacket, thrown over a chair.

"Are you robbing me?" he asked.

She took out his keys in victory. "I'll pack you a bag. Rest while you can. We're going to New York. I know a safe place we can stay."

Steve groaned. "Please don't say Stark Tower."

"Avengers tower," she corrected. "Don't worry. We're not that desperate." Yet, was left unsaid.

"And Sam?"

"Already packed." On her way out, she waved at him with his keys. "If I find any tighty-whities, I'm not packing them."

"You've seen my underwear. You know what to pack." She had a knack for showing up at his place unannounced at the most inconvenient times.

She smirked and left.

Steve looked up at the ceiling.

He didn't want to go to New York.

*

Steve had been right. They had nothing, and every tiny lead they followed led them nowhere. Two weeks in New York and they had zero to show for it.

The last lead was a vague reference Tony had found on the internet and it had led them to an underground dump. There were HYDRA symbols painted on the walls, takeout containers everywhere, and an unreasonable number of cans, mostly beer and Diet Coke. The smell was awful.

Steve picked up a small figurine. It looked like… a Red Skull action figure.

"No, no," Sam said, walking over. "I know what you're thinking. It's a Star Wars character. You didn't watch Star Wars? You promised, man."

Steve dropped the figurine, disgusted. "This isn't a HYDRA base. This is a HYDRA fan base."

"You don't say." Sam looked over to a large pillar where five teenagers were cowering, huddled together and sobbing. Or maybe they were in their twenties. It was hard to tell the difference sometimes. They all looked so young to Steve.

"How is this possible?" Steve asked. "Shouldn't they worship, I don't know, a band?"

Sam snorted. "Wish I could be as shocked as you."

"Hey, you, long beard," Steve called to the only guy who wasn't crying. He looked a bit older. Maybe because of the beard. "What's your name?"

The boy just glared.

"If this equipment is stolen, and I'm willing to bet it is, you're in a lot of trouble." There were far too many computers in here. The warehouse looked like a discount version of Tony's workshop.

"You're the one who's in trouble, Capitan," the boy spat.

"Always was, always turned it around. What's your track record?"

"Leave it, Cap," Tony said, his helmet off. He was behind the biggest computer, typing away. "They're Nazi youth. They don't store their knowledge in their brains. J.A.R.V.I.S., you're in?"

"Of course, sir." J.A.R.V.I.S.'s voice filled the warehouse.

"Do a sweep. Spare me the mumbo-jumbo details. Delete the porn, dump malware on their forums. Cross-reference with our database. Give me something. Are those piss buckets? Please, someone, tell me are those piss buckets?"

Steve looked to the side, blinking at the canisters filled with yellow liquid. He thought they were juice.

"There are no bathroom facilities in this complex," J.A.R.V.I.S. said.

"Jesus Christ." Tony rubbed his temples. Steve and Sam took a few steps back.

"This is a deadend, Tony," Steve said, knowing that would earn him another Captain Obvious comment.

J.A.R.V.I.S. intercepted Tony's insult. "They did make contact with a high-level HYDRA operative. Code name: Crossbones."

Steve ran to the screen. "Rumlow? What's he doing talking to teens?" This was one of their rare actual leads: Rumlow was active again with a stupid new moniker.

A series of messages appeared on the screen in front of Tony.

"Blabla, HYDRA is my only sunshine," Tony read aloud, all wrong, but the gist was right. "Mummy, I'm still a virgin. The earth is flat, Bill Gates is trying to kill me, Captain America sucks Democrats' cock. Hey, it actually says that."

Steve ignored him. "Stand by for orders. That's the last message. Sent yesterday."

"Hmm." Tony looked at him speculatively. "Would you say we were stealthy just now? Didn't blow up anything. Natasha didn't want to come. That's good. She likes to make a mess. I think we were stealthy."

Natasha would have been stealthier, but this was not the time to argue that point. "If you're suggesting we stick around to wait for these orders, we might be looking at kidnapping charges. We can't just keep them here." He favored the crying kids with a frown. "And if we call anyone, the orders won't come. We have to assume any attempts at communication would be intercepted."

"Hey, we're investigating. That takes time. No one's gonna charge us."

"It smells real bad in here," Sam commented. This was also a good argument.

"Have a Diet Coke," Tony told him. "Better yet, there's pot, have that. Live a little. Save me some." He gave them a pleading look. "An hour or two tops. Come on, it's Rumlow. You hate the guy."

"You just don't want to face Natasha with this story. She guessed it didn't sound like the real deal," Steve said.

"And you do?"

No. No, he didn't.

They waited for over two hours. The message came at twenty hundred sharp. It only contained an address and time — an hour from now.

"Last minute rendezvous, no instructions — it's not looking good for these kids," Tony said.

Steve frowned at the message. "What could they possibly want from them?"

Tony shrugged. "We waited this long, we have an address, I don't have dinner plans, so let's find out."

"Guys?" Sam asked. "What about them?" He pointed at the kids. They had stopped crying and instead looked sulky and bored.

"I have zip ties," Tony said, and Steve sighed.

*

Natasha was already on site. She must have been in the vicinity.

"This could be it, boys," she told them. "This address isn't in S.H.I.E.L.D. records, but I took shelter with Jackson here once. He seemed to know his way around. He was on the STRIKE team. Died on the Helicarrier."

"I remember," Steve said grimly. He was one of the guys that attacked him in the elevator, too. Steve had liked him. He seemed nice. A bit arrogant, but then, weren't they all?

The building was abandoned. They found nothing on the floor-to-floor sweep. The party was in the basement. Was being the operative word. They found six bodies, Rumlow among them, with bullets in their brains.

The place looked like an evil version of Tony's workshop. Heavy on the flickering green lighting and with the general air of being struck by a tornado.

"Your biggest fan, Cap?" Tony commented. "He's consistent. I'll give him that. You have to respect the fact he takes time to make precision shots."

Respect was not on Steve's mind. This was a cold-blooded massacre.

"And that he shows up wherever Steve is," Sam added.

"He couldn't have been following me," Steve said. "He got here before we did, obviously. Right before." The bodies were… fresh.

"That makes it what? A coincidence?" Sam asked doubtfully.

"Do you think he has a Capsicle figurine?" Tony asked Sam. "I think he does. I think he plays with it."

"I have one," Sam said, then looked at Steve guiltily. "I don't play with it."

"I have one, too." Tony shoved something, a USB drive perhaps, into one of the numerous ports. "Him and Boba Fett are on my mantelpiece," Tony said musingly, "up to no good."

Steve was trying not to listen to them. He moved around and stepped on glass. There were several shattered vials on the floor, blue liquid shimmering amidst the shards.

"Is that what I think it is?" Natasha asked quietly, walking up to Steve.

"Well. The Winter Soldier was injected with the serum," Steve said. "I'm sure of it. A version of it, at least. He's too strong, metal arm notwithstanding."

"If they had the serum, why not make more super soldiers?"

"Maybe they did make more. Maybe it didn't work. Not even Erskine's version would work well on everyone." Or they did make more and the Winter Soldier was just one of many. But how likely was that? A number of super soldiers, someone would have noticed. Steve's gaze settled on a chair in the middle of the room. It looked like a dentist's chair, with machinery all around it.

"First thought, torture chair," Sam said, moving all around to examine it. "Second thought… all the machinery is centered around where the head would be."

"They messed with his brain," Nat said. "To control him."

This wasn't a conclusion. If it was, it would have been an extraordinary one, based on a few shards and an unknown machine. This was information.

"You knew about this?" Steve asked, annoyed. "This guy was brainwashed? Why not tell me?" And Steve had told her his theory that this guy was a prisoner. She watched him dismiss it and said nothing.

Natasha didn't answer, only stared at the chair.

"What are we thinking?" Tony walked closer, frowning.

"We walked behind the scenes of the Christmas special," Sam said. "Making of the Winter Soldier. According to Natasha."

"Can't be." Tony waved him off. "If he was made, he was made decades ago. Isn't that what you said, Romanoff? That he'd been active forever?"

Nat was still staring at the chair, unseeing. She was making it hard to be angry with her. But this was vital intel. If the Winter Soldier was a captive out for revenge against HYDRA, then they should have never wasted time hunting him down. And Steve shouldn't have felt quite so guilty for letting him escape in the first place.

Tony was right, though. This wasn't meant for the Soldier. Steve looked down at the glass. "My guess is they planned to make more. Five more. They had five tries, at least. Hoping one would work?"

Tony's helmet came down. He was staring at Steve's feet and the broken vials.

"Five vials, five kids? They were volunteers?"

"Or victims," Steve said. "I doubt they knew what they were getting themselves into."

Tony fiddled with the chair. "Electroshock therapy. My humble opinion." That meant it was definitely meant for electroshock therapy. Tony knew machines. "Well, by therapy I mean torture, but, really, what's the diff?"

J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke. "Everything is scrubbed clean, sir."

"It is?" Tony looked surprised. "Then the Soldier destroyed the data? Why? Whose side is he on?" he asked, annoyed. "Is this some sort of 'top-level HYDRA cleaning out low-level HYDRA' type of situation? Does he just like to kill people? Is he training for a shooting competition?"

"I don't know," Steve said honestly. "I—" He looked around at the dead. Rumlow's eyes were staring blankly at the ceiling; his face was horribly scarred. Right next to him there was a phone.

"Tony," Steve said, urgent. "Do you think the Winter Soldier read that message?"

Tony's face went blank. "Read and… traced. Son of a bitch." His helmet was on and he was up in the air in seconds.

"Get the paramedics to the fanbase," Steve told Sam and Nat. "Quick as you can."

"What will you do?" Sam asked.

"Run."

It wasn't that far. Steve jumped over benches and cars, and occasionally people. Would the Winter Soldier kill a bunch of teens? Would their age matter to him? Maybe they weren't HYDRA yet, but they were close enough. Volunteers or victims, it didn't matter. They were stupid kids either way. They deserved prison. A solid thrashing, too, if Steve were honest. But not a bullet to the head.

By the time Steve barreled into the warehouse, he worked up a sweat.

Tony was sitting on one of the chairs, the lights of his suit flickering, his head in his hands. The moans of pain coming from the teens made Steve breathe out in relief. Three of them were still tied around the pillar, panting and crying again. One was further away, his moans the loudest. He was lying in a heap, his leg twisted at an odd angle. The bearded guy was sprawled among the canisters filled with piss. A few had spilled. He wasn't moving, but Steve saw no injuries. There was no sign of the Winter Soldier.

"Tony, are you okay?" Steve ran up to him.

Tony looked up with a definite pout. He looked unharmed. "He's a charmer, your Soldier boy. A real psycho, too."

Steve pushed down a protest. The psycho in question was not his Soldier boy. He might have been Natasha's Soldier boy, though.

"He didn't kill them, that's something," Steve said instead. "Did you get here on time or did he make that choice beforehand?" Maybe that wasn't the most important question, but Steve was starting to understand his own interest in the Soldier now. Did the man agree to take the serum? Had his own ideals, a wish to help his country? Was he out of control and they messed with his brain to put him back under it? What was his path now? Redemption? Becoming the new Red Skull? Could he be turned away from it?

"He made a choice to be a psycho," Tony said. "I found him holding that idiot at gunpoint." He pointed at the bearded guy covered in piss. "And forcing him to shoot those idiots. All crazy-eyed." Tony made a likely very bad impression of it. "Is that what you want? Be a fucking weapon? Go on then, shoot who I tell you to shoot, or I'll blow your brains out!" Tony rubbed his temples. "We're all lucky Mr. Beard-is-my-whole-personality over there is a bad shot."

That was horrifying. Steve could understand the Soldier's anger if Nat's theory was correct, but this felt like an escalation. If Tony hadn't come when he did, these kids would have been dead, murdered by their friend. This wasn't a cold, methodical execution; he was toying with his victims. That was new.

"How did he get away?" Steve tried not to sound accusing, but Tony gave him a dirty look anyway. It was just that Steve thought Iron Man could take down the Winter Soldier, perhaps not with extreme ease, but Tony was heavily armed and armored, and wouldn't hold back against a foe like that.

"Apparently he has a fancy EMP discharge device in his arm," Tony grumbled. "Yay. Also, he used that one as body armor." He pointed at the guy with a broken leg. "And he gave me a headache." Tony was nearly whining and Steve patted his metal back in sympathy.

The paramedics arrived a couple of minutes before Natasha and Sam. The whole place filled up with people. There were many dark suits around.

Steve retreated out of the spotlight. "Which agency is this?" he asked Natasha when she joined him in the corner where he stood watching. He wasn't sure why he was still here. He should have gone back to the actual HYDRA facility to see if the Soldier had failed to destroy some important piece of evidence. But there was time for that. They didn't report that base to anyone, not with the serum spilled on the floor.

"CIA," Natasha said with a cursory glance at the agents. "Let's talk about my buddy Josh, instead."

"You have a buddy named Josh?"

"Sure do. I promised to write to him every day. And wait for him to get out of prison." She pointed at the bearded guy, currently being dragged away.

"You made all of that up just now. No one's that naive."

She smiled. "You'd be surprised. But, yeah, okay, none of it was necessary. The guy is more than willing to talk, babble even. He claims he's a good shot, tried so hard to shoot his friends, damn it, but he kept missing." She opened the palm of her hand and offered it up for Steve's inspection.

Steve blinked at the collected casings. "Blanks?" That made more sense actually. Why give an enemy a loaded gun? Although, if anyone could afford to take that risk, it was the Winter Soldier. In fact, was it even a risk? No, this wasn't about his safety. He didn't want to kill those kids. He just wanted to scare them shitless.

There was a smile playing around Natasha's lips.

"Explain something to me," he said, watching her. "You shot that guy in DC after he saved our necks. You kept urging me to find him and take him down. And all this time you knew they messed with his brain to control him. Not to mention you look positively charmed that he used blanks to scare those kids."

She scowled, unimpressed. "Don't be an idiot. I'm not charmed. I'm just… I know a little something about how some old Russian organizations work. Mind-controlled assassins don't surprise me. But we don't know what kind of man he is without that control. He could be worse. A psychopath who wants to kill everyone. I'm not excluding that possibility. But the fact that he bothered coming here to teach these children a lesson — that's really something, you know?"

It was. These weren't some poor innocent kids. It was a bunch of young assholes that almost went down the same path the Winter Soldier was forced to take. This was empathy.

Natasha took an audible breath. "Look, if we can bring him in, he could be a valuable asset. The parts of HYDRA that got away are covering their tracks as skillfully as they have for decades. The Winter Soldier has his metal arm twisted around the last game in town. He wants to defect? He wants revenge? He wants to impress you, save you, pay his debt? Whatever. We could use him. It doesn't mean I'm taking back anything I've said before. He's still dangerous, and I'm still ready to shoot him if necessary. I'd advise you to do the same."

"Okay." Steve nodded, then raised his eyebrow. "But I'm gonna keep asking, Nat. You'll tell me the whole story."

"You're imagining things," she called after him as he walked away.

*

"Here, I forgot." Tony shoved a package into his hands just as Steve walked into Stark's workshop, two days later.

Steve opened the package with a resigned sigh. Yup, it was a bunch of doilies.

"Happy birthday," Tony said grandly, already back behind his computer, eyes on the screen. "I'm a bit late." He was a lot late. "But hey, you were far away, and I don't really do birthday gifts. Pepper does."

"She does." She had sent Steve a nice leather jacket; he'd been wearing it ever since. The card had said, Love, Tony and Pepper. Tony was either unaware or forgot, and Pepper had even made sure to politely put Tony's name first.

Tony was so engrossed in his screen he failed to crack a single joke about the doilies. What was even the point?

"Please tell me this isn't why you called me?" Steve said.

"Nope." Tony still wasn't looking at him. "I've got news." He grinned. "I'm a genius. Wait. That's not news. Better news? Your Soldier boy isn't nearly as smart as I thought."

"Could you stop calling him that? He's not my Soldier boy." Steve shouldn't have risen to that bait, but it was too late now.

"Well, I can't call him the Winter Soldier. That's stupid. What does it even mean? It's not currently winter. You can't just pick a name, not accounting for changing variables. I mean, if he only ever operated in winter, then, okay. Decent name. A bit on the nose, but—"

"I don't think he chose his name, Tony," Steve said, mostly to interrupt him.

"Good point. It's actually why you're here. Well, not really. But sort of. Point is, your Soldier boy fucked up." Tony pressed a button on the keyboard and a dozen screens started appearing all around him, files unfolding and overlapping. "He used a clever little pulse on my suit, got past my defenses. Not to worry, I've recalibrated, won't happen again. But more importantly — or less importantly. My suit is more important, obviously—"

"You restored the HYDRA files he'd deleted." Steve realized, eyes scanning the files. "Because he used the same device in the base to destroy them."

"Well, yes." Tony didn't look happy. "You just made it sound simple. It wasn't simple. It was hard. It took two days."

"Tony, I'm impressed when Nat changes my ringtones; I don't think I'm the right audience for you."

"We're calling her Nat? I thought we agreed on Romanoff."

Steve stopped listening. "Jesus. Did you read this?"

"No, I didn't. I glanced. I was busy. This was basically a live performance. I called you here for the miracle moment. I was gonna throw confetti. No, DUM-E, I was kidding. Stop. Come on. Sense the sarcasm. Where did you get that, anyway? Were you on eBay again?"

"This is a manual," Steve said, tuning out Tony, sick to his stomach.

"Er, yup." Tony finally looked up at the files. "Oh, there are helpful little sections. Storage, maintenance, side-effects. Huh. It's not a code name. It's a project name. Well, that makes more sense. If they thought of it in the middle of winter…"

"Doesn't that mean there are more of them? More Winter Soldiers under HYDRA control?" That was the important part they should focus on. Not all the things they did to this man. Every line seemed pulled straight from a horror movie. Stored in the cryo chamber, taken out for special assignments, subjected to selective memory appropriation — they fried his brain, erasing specific memories, the ones that made him a person. The ones he needed for missions were kept. A two-hour-long process ensured 100% obedience level. And they had to do it every time they took him out of cryo. Because his brain kept healing itself, thanks to the serum.

"I think you're wrong, Cap," Tony said, opening a new file. "Our Soldier might be the only Winter Soldier, after all."

Our Soldier was it now? Tony barely even acknowledged that they were reading almost a literal manual on how to torture and brainwash someone into becoming a slave, an object, but that little our told Steve this was a difficult read for Tony, too.

The file that Tony opened had a list of test subjects, marked by numbers and labeled with big red letters proclaiming them FAILED.

"Not for the lack of trying," Steve murmured. It was a long list.

"... unstable, disoriented, confused, dangerous, delusional…"

"What are you reading?" It sounded exactly how Natasha had described the Winter Soldier, yet all the other files talked about utter control and complete obedience.

Tony blew out a breath. "What happens if the Soldier is kept out of cryo too long. His brain starts healing again, but with him being awake, it's not an easy process. Psychologically. Six weeks in cryo is recommended. A second wipe before his brain had fully healed is not recommended, but it has been done on occasion, resulting in extreme exhaustion and reduced efficiency of the Asset." Tony frowned. "There was no cryo chamber in that basement. If it's that important to keep this guy in check, they would have to have one nearby, right?"

"Nearby means DC. That's where his mission was."

"Which means this is a secondary location. We need the primary. I'm not so sure we'll get as much intel here as I hoped. Baring the…" He grimaced. "The manual."

"So this isn't everything? There are more files? J.A.R.V.I.S. is still decrypting?"

"I love it when you use words you don't understand. J.A.R.V.I.S. is patching up fragmented data. Then he'll decrypt them. Then he'll translate them. We're a long way from that. This was just one subfolder. It was labeled Soldat; I thought it would be interesting. I was wrong. Could have read Frankenstein instead." He pushed away from his desk. "I won't have anything for you for a day or two. Maybe less. I don't know. Please don't stay and hover. It's making me… well, not nervous, sad. It's making me sad. Go away. Find something better to do."

"I didn't actually read everything yet," Steve said, though he did speed-read it all. It felt like he should read it again. Carefully. See if there was more he could infer. Find something that would tell him what was the best way to approach the Soldier.

"J.A.R.V.I.S.," Tony called, getting up. "Sacrifice some trees for the old guy."

Steve was confused for two seconds until the printer started running. His annoyance at getting unceremoniously thrown out cleared: he did prefer paper in his hand.

Tony nearly walked out, but then said, "Oh dear, I forgot," and went back to pull out a large photograph from the mess on his desk. "Here. Wanna know how I knew to get you dollies? I know you have a thing for them. I'm not random." He gave Steve the photograph with a smirk and walked out, calling, "See you around, Cap."

Steve stared at the photograph for much too long before he could fully comprehend what he was looking at. Ridiculously, the first thing he noticed was the goddamn doily, right in the middle of the photograph, thrown over the back of the sofa. He knew that sofa; he knew that photograph. It was taken long, long ago, and even back then when it was new it was dark and grainy, not to mention black and white. This, though, was fully colorized, sharp and clear, like one of the pictures Steve could take today with his phone. There was Steve in the photo, sitting down, young and frail, and so damn small, and to his right, there was Bucky, full of life, handsome and smiling at the girl behind the lens, who took the picture that day. And between them standing behind the sofa and leaning forward with a smile was Sarah Rogers, Steve's mom.

The last time he'd seen her he hadn't yet been injected with the serum. His memories of that time were not nearly as vivid as the ones that came after. He'd forgotten the lines on her face, the softness of her eyes, that indulgent smile when Bucky and Steve dragged her in front of the camera, so she too would be in the photograph. Six months later she was dead. That day, when the photograph had been taken, she had pulled him aside and told him to keep an eye on Bucky. He's the sweetest boy, Steve, she had said, but I'm afraid he sometimes forgets how to be a gentleman. It will get him in trouble. Steve thought it funny, then. His mother didn't approve of Bucky's endless line of girls, who were more than happy to favor him with a kiss, a fondle, or more. As it turned out, none of it ever got Bucky in any real trouble. Steve was the one who got him killed.

"J.A.R.V.I.S.?" Steve said tentatively.

"Yes, Captain?"

"This old photograph Tony gave me, do you know where he got it?"

"It's a collector's item. Mr. Stark had it digitalized and colorized."

"Collector's item? Sounds expensive."

"I'm not at liberty to discuss Mr. Stark's financial transactions."

"No, I— Of course." It didn't matter anyway. The thought behind it was priceless. Steve didn't know what he did to deserve it. In fact, he was sure he didn't. Not the photograph or the surprising tact Tony just showed by leaving Steve to spill tears in private. Though, Steve didn't cry. "Can you tell Tony… Never mind. I mean, don't tell him never mind. Don't tell him anything. Forget it."

"I understand inflections, Captain. However, all conversations in this room are recorded. I am unable to forget anything."

Steve should not have tried to have a conversation with an AI. He looked down at the photograph again, at Bucky's young face.

"Well, thanks, anyway," he said, brisk, and gathered the printouts in a file folder J.A.R.V.I.S. had pointed out to him.

He was clammy and unfocused, and couldn't shake it. The long ride on his bike back to the apartment Natasha had set up for them helped somewhat, but neither Sam nor Nat was home. They'd gone to convince Clint to join and help them. Natasha took Sam as temptation material, an example of a normal person in their midst, as opposed to Steve and Tony. This meant Steve had nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. And his thoughts made no sense. The photograph unsettled him. His mind was trying to pull on a thread he didn't want to pull, make a connection he didn't want to make because there was no sense to it, no point, no reason.

He puttered around the kitchen, trying to decide what to have for dinner, but then gave up and went to his room, to the nightstand by his bed with a locked drawer. It wasn't some brilliant hiding place, but Steve preferred to keep his sketchbook out of sight. He pulled it out now, turned on the lamp on the nightstand, and flipped through the pages. He paused at one of his better sketches of Bucky and placed the photograph Tony had given him next to it.

They weren't the same. They were and they weren't. Bucky in the photograph and Bucky in Steve's sketch were both clearly him, but the differences were sharper than Steve had ever imagined. It wasn't like Steve was unaware of the toll the war and captivity had on Bucky, on all of them, but looking at him now, so young and carefree, the difference was astounding. The lines of his face, the curve of his lips, the hollowness of his cheeks… This was the Bucky in his mind. He was right there on the page, drawn by Steve's own hand, one of several sketches. How had Steve never realized how deep that haunted look in his eyes went? How sad his smile looked? The contrast was staggering.

Bucky had been his crutch when Steve was small, his pillar when Steve got big. He never realized Bucky was crumbling. Bucky never told him what HYDRA had done to him, didn't want to talk about it. And today, Steve had discovered a whole new layer to their sadism, one Steve had never imagined. They had reduced a person to a thing one could use and store. Broke him into a shell. If they had done it to one of their own, what had they done to Bucky? Eh, roughed me up, gave me a few shots, those stung, that was what Bucky had said.

Why hadn't Steve asked again? Pushed? Insisted? Maybe sent Bucky home?

He knew the answers to all these questions. He couldn't force Bucky to talk, certainly couldn't force him to leave, but he should have done something differently. Maybe he could have saved him. Made him see he didn't have to protect Steve anymore. Made him understand his life didn't count for any less.

Steve closed the sketchbook with a snap. His breathing was ragged. He took deep breaths, trying to steady them, and then took a long one and held it.

That ragged sound was still there. Breaths that didn't match his own. That were coming from his left.

Slowly, Steve put back the sketchbook and reached below the bed. He'd left his shield in the kitchen, but he had a loaded gun in here. He took another moment to listen, and then, sure there was someone in the room with him, shot up with his gun pointed at the shadowy corner.

Steve could not understand how he hadn't noticed him before: he could actually see him in the light of the neon signs streaming from the window. It was a big apartment with big rooms, but sparsely furnished. There wasn't much between here and the window, just two chairs, and a long coffee table. Steve's line of sight was clear.

The Winter Soldier was propped against the wall, with his legs sprawled. It didn't look like an ambush, but more like he had crawled through the window and collapsed. Steve couldn't see him clearly, but he could tell the Soldier was shaking. His metal arm gleamed, the only part of him that was steady. Unsurprisingly, his metal fingers gripped a pointed gun.

"Drop it," the Soldier said. His voice was steady, too, but muffled in a way that told Steve the mask was still in place.

"Or what?" Steve asked. "You'll shoot me? Again?"

"Could have shot you already. Could have shot you and had a nap. You're above doing a sweep of your safe place?"

Lectured on safety by an armed intruder. The Winter Soldier was developing a pattern of giving hard lessons.

Steve lowered his gun and placed it on the bed. The Soldier was right. If he had wanted to shoot him, he'd have done it already.

Calmer now, after getting a better idea of what he was dealing with here, Steve walked towards the door. The Soldier cocked his gun, but Steve ignored it and turned on the lights.

"I'd prefer them off," the Soldier said, his voice no longer steady. He was in pain. Steve could see him clearly now. He wasn't wearing any armor. Just boots, cargo pants, and a grey sleeveless undershirt that was soaked with blood on his left side, from beneath his metal armpit down to his hip. He was severely underdressed. Maybe caught unaware while he slept. His hair was wet, too wet for it to be the result of sweating. He must have finished showering, then, and hadn't finished dressing and drying his hair before he was attacked. What a strange thought it was: the Winter Soldier, going through his evening routine. Surely he didn't shower with his mask on. He must have run and taken the most important things — his gun and his mask.

"If you're shot," Steve said, "you should have gone to the hospital. Back-alley clinic. Kidnapped a doctor."

"I can go kidnap a doctor. If you'd prefer."

No, Steve wouldn't prefer. "I'm not a medic."

"I just need you to get the bullet out."

"Right. If it's just that, why would you need a trained professional?"

"I'll tell you what to do. I'd do it myself but I can't…" He made a movement toward his left side with his good hand. "It's unfortunately placed."

Steve had already decided to help. He could take out a bullet just fine, especially if no major organs were hit, and the Soldier wouldn't be as lucid as he clearly was if that were the case. But the last time he had let his pity overrule his reason, he got stabbed for it. The stakes were even higher now. No matter how horribly broken this man was, he was still dangerous and unpredictable. If he wanted help, Steve couldn't afford to give it for free.

"You remember what happened the last time I helped you?" Steve asked.

The Soldier stared at him. He slowly lowered his gun.

Steve didn't move. "That's not enough." He wished he could read the Soldier's expression, but that was impossible with his mask on.

After several long moments, the Soldier spoke. "I have information. I'm willing to share."

"On HYDRA?"

"No, Santa Claus's whereabouts," the Soldier gritted out. "Yes, HYDRA."

"All right, let's hear it."

"Yeah, it doesn't work like that. Bullet out first."

Steve shook his head. "I have no reason to trust you. And you wouldn't be here if you thought you couldn't trust my word. You have it. Give me the info and I'll patch you up, send you on your way." Steve meant it. We could use him, Natasha had said. It probably wouldn't be easy, though. It would take work and time.

The Soldier took a moment to mull that over. "All right, then. Let's put it all on Captain America's integrity." He sighed. "I have a name. Doctor Nicholas Whitman. Real name Nikola Bjelica. He recreated the new version of the super soldier serum for HYDRA. He should have been there in that base two days ago. He wasn't, though. He got spooked, ran, was late. I don't know. For the rest, you can Google him. He's not an unknown. Well-respected. Wife, kids, eleven grandchildren. Vegan."

This was something Tony might dig out anyway from the HYDRA files he was currently salvaging, but the Soldier didn't know that. It wasn't about the information as much as establishing the rules of this engagement.

Steve took out his phone.

"Jesus." The Soldier's head thumped against the wall. "I'll bleed out."

"While I Google," Steve said, "you can slide that gun toward me along with all the knives."

Steve found the guy on the internet. There was no time to check everything and no way to know if the Soldier made it all up, but it would have to do for now.

Two guns and five knives were dropped around the Soldier's feet. That probably wasn't everything.

Steve walked over, kicking the weaponry aside and bending down to grab the Soldier's flesh arm to pull him up.

The Soldier jerked back, as though on instinct, but didn't lash out, didn't pull out a knife or swing his metal arm. He was in much worse shape than Steve had originally thought. His skin was covered with a sheen of sweat, and he was practically vibrating with shivers. Steve tried not to look at the scarring on the Soldier's left shoulder. The skin there was fused with metal, old wounds but still angry and inflamed along the rim. The metal went deeper into his body than Steve had imagined. The whole shoulder, and even lower. It was more horrific than the undershirt soaked with blood.

"I need you to stand," Steve said, gentler than intended. "I need you on that table there, higher and directly beneath the light." And I need you to take off your mask, Steve wanted to say but didn't.

The Soldier closed his eyes and nodded, then threw his good arm over Steve's shoulder, surprising Steve by not insisting he could make it on his own.

He was heavy, clearly unable to hold his weight, and Steve grabbed the metal forearm to pull him up. The Soldier twitched at that, too, metal fingers clenching convulsively, but he didn't complain, and they made their way to the table with Steve nearly carrying him. The Soldier's feet dragged more than stepped.

Steve arranged him on the table, which would likely be uncomfortable, but it was the perfect height.

He left to get supplies; he had plenty of those. They all expected to get shot at some point — that was the life. He also brought back a glass of water and two pills.

The Soldier took one look at them and said, "No."

"They'll help with the pain."

"Nothing helps with the pain," the Soldier said, and that was just sad. And untrue. Steve got injections in the hospital that sent him over the moon. It wasn't pleasant, being so out of it, and it eventually made him queasy, but it stopped the pain.

"These will," Steve said. "S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists made them for me."

"You mean HYDRA scientists."

Touché. "Maybe. But they worked on me, no ill-effects, they'll work on you."

"You think I'm stupid?"

Steve smiled at that. "I think you're paranoid. And you aren't thinking clearly. You think I can't put you down right now? Without sedatives?"

"So they are sedatives?"

"They'll probably knock you out, yeah." Steve didn't want to lie. The Soldier was in bad shape. If he took the pills, he wouldn't be able to fight off the drowsiness.

"Not happening." The Soldier's voice shook with anger.

Steve tried not to sigh. "All right." He set the glass down and then ripped off the bloody undershirt. The Soldier jerked again when Steve's hands touched his bare skin, but Steve didn't acknowledge it and worked to remove the bloody bandage that was covering the wound.

The Soldier's breathing was shallow, but he didn't cry out or moan. Which was a miracle considering there was a hole in his body. An actual hole. It wasn't deep, but it was wide. It was… Steve wasn't sure what he was looking at. The bleeding had slowed down to a trickle and Steve could very clearly see the bullet and…

"Support mechanism," the Soldier gritted out. "To help carry the weight of the arm. Just get the bullet out."

Metal ribs, Steve realized. That was what he was looking at. He had a feeling the Soldier had tried to take out the bullet himself and had made a mess of his flesh.

Blood and flesh and spilled brains had stopped making Steve queasy long ago, but this was just plain wrong and Steve's stomach rolled.

He tried to work quickly, but when he had the bullet grasped with the forceps, it wouldn't budge. It was pinched.

"Just pull," the Soldier breathed. He was shaking, struggling not to move, not to scream in pain. "You can't break anything. Just…. please…"

Goddammit. Steve braced himself and used his strength. The bullet gave out and the Soldier screamed. His whole body convulsed, his metal arm whirring, his spine curving — that wasn't good. Gently but firmly Steve placed his palm at the middle of the Soldier's chest, pushed him down, and held him there. One-handed, he placed a fresh gauze on the wound; he would have to dress it properly later, though the bleeding had stopped and the risk of infection was nonexistent, thanks to the serum. The wound would heal, but it would take time and it would hurt.

The Soldier was shaking, gaze blank, directed at the ceiling, but he had stopped screaming.

"Changed your mind about the pills?" Steve asked quietly.

The Soldier made a sound, which might have been a no, but it lacked conviction. Steve stood up, took the water and pills in one hand, then moved behind the Soldier to make him sit up.

The Soldier groaned, but he was pliant.

"Take off the mask and drink this. I can't even see your face from this angle, and I won't look."

Either the pain was too strong or the Soldier was too out of it or he trusted Steve that much, but he did as told. It took him some time to pull off the mask. Steve looked away, trying to keep his word, though the angle really wouldn't let him see the Soldier's face. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve did catch a glimpse of his nose, straight and unmarred. The Winter Soldier wasn't hiding a disfigurement then, the Red Skull kind.

When the mask was back on, Steve took the glass from the Soldier's hand.

"If I fall asleep…" the Soldier whispered.

"You'll be sore. Come on, let's get you to bed."

Steve half-carried him to bed, maneuvering him easily as he dressed the wound, wrapping the bandages all around his torso before forcing him into one of Steve's shirts.

He didn't even bother with the boots; he was sure the Soldier slept in them.

The Soldier said nothing, did as told, moved here, moved there, raised his arms, his shivering subsiding. He stared as Steve covered him with a blanket.

"At ease, Soldier," Steve said and the Soldier's eyes closed.

Chest clenched tight, Steve walked out.

*

Natasha claimed this apartment belonged to someone very rich, and the sheer enormity of it confirmed it, but one couldn't tell by the furniture. It was ridiculously sparse, mostly consisting of colorful and weirdly shaped chairs and ottomans. No normal couches or armchairs in the living room where Steve could sit and keep watch throughout the night. He ignored the tiny red ottomans and brought a yellow kitchen chair to sit on near the door to his room.

He could see the Soldier's boots from this angle, the soles illuminated by the light Steve had left on in the living room.

Around 4 pm, the Soldier woke up. Steve saw his boots twitch.

He went in and stood by the bed for a few moments, so his eyes could adjust to the dark. The Soldier stared at the ceiling, shivering and twitching; he must have been in pain again. He was so quiet.

"Hey," Steve said, coming closer, but the Soldier didn't react. Steve tried again and this time the Soldier's gaze snapped to him, eyes going wide.

Was that fear? Did the Soldier even know where he was? It seemed like he didn't.

"You were shot," Steve said, slowly. "You came to me. We got the bullet out. You took some painkillers. I think it's time for a second dose."

The Soldier didn't react, just stared at Steve as though shocked. He even stopped shivering.

Steve moved away to bring back a pill and another glass of water.

"Come on," he said. "One more, just like last time. Nothing bad happened, see?"

Finally, the Soldier blinked and then seemed to start getting up, but he grimaced in pain. He didn't cry out, though. Steve hurried to help him, sitting behind his back to support it and take the pressure away from the Soldier's side.

"There you go," he said, realizing too late it sounded like he was speaking to a child.

The Soldier didn't call him on it; he fiddled with his mask. He couldn't get it off. It was slowly making him frantic.

Steve set the glass and the pill on the nightstand. "Here, let me help." He reached from behind for the little clasps near the Soldier's ears. He'd noticed them earlier. They had to be pressed with more strength than the Soldier had at the moment.

The mask came off and Steve picked up the pill and the glass again. He had to help the Soldier with that, too. Grasp the Soldier's flesh hand and help him drink because he was shivering too much to manage it.

It would have been so easy to see his face as the Soldier leaned back. It felt wrong, though, to sneak a look, which would only be possible because the Soldier was clearly too far gone to be careful.

Steve closed his eyes and opened them when he felt the Soldier's neck bend forward again.

"You want this back?" Steve asked, putting the glass away and offering the mask.

That thing must have hurt. It put too much pressure on the Soldier's jaw. It might not hurt while he was wearing it, but it would definitely hurt when he took it off and released the pressure.

The Soldier didn't react, either because he didn't register the question or he was thinking about showing his face to Steve.

Steve did his best to wait him out, but it took too long.

"Do you want to put on the mask?" he asked again, leaning in a bit closer. "It's okay if you do. It's okay if you don't."

There was no reaction, and tentatively Steve touched the Soldier's flesh hand, the one resting on the Soldier's lap, the same way he'd touched it earlier when he had helped the Soldier drink, palm wrapping around it. Steve didn't mean anything by it. It just seemed like the safest place to touch, to get some sort of reaction since Steve's voice hadn't managed it. The Soldier's hand twitched and Steve almost pulled away, but instead the Soldier hooked his thumb over Steve's thumb and held it. It was such a tiny movement, a hint of a handhold.

A thought burned at Steve's temples, nearly pushing tears to his eyes.

The Soldier had understood him perfectly; he just didn't want to move. He wanted this. He wanted comfort. He wanted a hug. Because this was a hug; Steve hadn't even realized. The Soldier's back against Steve's chest, Steve's arm around him….

Jesus Christ.

That was what the Soldier was asking for.

All that pain, all that death, all those years. When was the last time someone hugged him? Made him feel safe?

Steve discarded the mask and wrapped his other arm around the Soldier, pressing him firmer against his chest.

The Soldier's head sagged forward with one small sob, so quiet Steve would not have heard it if not for his great hearing. If the Soldier cried, he did it quietly.

Steve cleared his mind of thoughts. If he didn't, he'd get lost in despair. He wished he could offer more. Promise something. Say the Soldier could just stay here, and Steve would help him, keep him safe.

But that wasn't in Steve's power. The Soldier was wanted by dozens of organizations around the world. There was footage of him leading a devastating attack in DC. They had proof he was brainwashed, but who would be willing to listen? What was Steve to do? Keep him here in his room? Even if he could, the Soldier wouldn't agree to it. This was a moment of vulnerability. He was in pain. He was drugged. He'd been attacked in whichever safe place he'd been hiding out so far. Come morning, he would pick up his weapons and go back to his revenge.

That was the biggest problem. Steve could maybe figure out the rest.

Eventually, the Soldier sagged back against Steve's chest and fell asleep. Steve waited a bit, to make sure, and then slowly got up and arranged the Soldier on the bed.

He made it a point not to look at the Soldier's face. It wouldn't be right, not if Steve wanted his trust.

He left the mask right next to the Soldier's metal hand, walked out, and closed the bedroom door.

*

"What did you think? That I wouldn't do a sweep of the place when I get back?" Natasha's arms were crossed on her chest. She was furious, to put it mildly.

"Can you keep your voice down?" Steve asked again. The Soldier was still asleep.

"Yeah, Nat," Sam added, "we don't want to wake up the homicidal maniac sleeping in Steve's bed."

"Really? We don't?" Clint cranked his neck. "I sort of do. I heard so much about the guy. I'd like to be introduced."

"You're a better marksman," Natasha said exasperatedly, clearly addressing a previous argument. "No one claimed otherwise. I just said he was one of the best. Not the best."

Clint shrugged. "I can deal with competition."

"I can't deal with Steve's naivety," Natasha said, still loud.

"I'm not being naive. I told you. It was an exchange. I got information."

"You got a name. Not a fair exchange."

"What would you have me do?"

"Tie him up, for starters."

"He's got the serum. You have something to keep me tied down? I don't."

"You know who likely does."

Tony, of course. Steve shook his head. "I promised him. If we try to hold him, he won't cooperate."

"If we let him go, he'll go on another killing spree. What guarantee do you have that he'll stick to HYDRA operatives?"

"Plenty. If you look at the files I tried showing you."

"Saying he's out for revenge doesn't help your case. People focused on revenge aren't stable."

Sam laughed quietly. "Sorry, I mean… you guys call yourselves Avengers."

"And we're not stable," Clint said. "Proves her point."

Steve couldn't help noticing Natasha had seemed uninterested in Tony's files. Perhaps she knew what was in them.

"All right." Steve nodded. "I did it all wrong. I'm stepping down. What do you want to do?"

She looked taken aback but recovered quickly. "Fine. We'll call Tony. He'll find a place we can hold him. We'll question him. We'll wear him down. I'm up for it."

"Wait," Sam said. "Shouldn't we hand him over to… I don't know. The military? CIA? Just… the US government. I'm not picky."

Sam was actually going through Tony's files. Steve couldn't understand reading them and then deciding to give up on this man, deciding to lock him up.

"Hey, man, don't look at me like that." Sam seemed to have read Steve's mind. "This is a horror show. I wish we could help him, but how can we? Is anyone here a trained medical professional? A psychiatrist? I mean, I'm trained just enough to know how untrained I am."

"And if we hand him over, you think the people you've listed would give him the help he needs?" Steve asked. "I wouldn't believe that even before we found out that HYDRA infested every pore of every government."

"That's taking it a bit far, Cap," Clint said. "There are still good people, willing to do their job, capable of compassion."

"I know there are. And I believe they outnumber the bad. If I didn't, I'd have given up a long time ago. But we all failed at telling the difference. What's changed now? We don't know who to trust. We have to deal with HYDRA first or we might end up helping the enemy retrieve their greatest asset." Steve looked at Natasha. "So go on then. Call Tony."

Natasha fiddled with her phone, all of a sudden looking hesitant. Steve had been hoping for that.

"Do you actually agree with calling Tony or do you think it's a bad idea?" she asked.

"I thought you didn't want my naive opinion."

She rolled her eyes.

"I was trying to establish trust," Steve said, keeping his voice calm. "I gave him my pills; told him they'd knock him out. And he took them. Slept like a baby. So, I'd say it's working." He thought it best to not tell them about the hug.

Natasha looked at Clint.

"Oh no. I'm not voting here," Clint said quickly. "I'm not as up-to-date as I'd like to be. And Sam's hogging the files."

"Sam?" Nat prompted.

"Nope. If he's abstaining" — he jabbed his thumb in Clint's direction — "then I'm, what? The casting vote? Not happening. You two work it out."

"I hate that you gave him your pills," Natasha grumbled.

"The elephant pills?" Clint's eyes widened in exaggerated shock.

"There's no reason to call them elephant pills," Steve said for Sam's benefit. "It's just a strong analgesic."

"It's a bit more than that," Nat said. "S.H.I.E.L.D. designed it for Steve. No side-effects, fast-acting, effective, actually speeds up the healing process. When you spend what you have, you're not getting more, you realize that?"

"I managed fine without them for years. It's nothing to get worked up about. I can go to a hospital, he can't."

Natasha seemed truly torn. "Okay," she said at last. "Fine. We let him go. He saved our lives, I guess. So he gets this one chance. One. He's going to get himself killed, anyway."

"Maybe." Steve nodded. "First, he's going to get breakfast." He picked up the spatula he'd previously set aside and went back to making scrambled eggs.

"Wait, he gets breakfast?" Clint asked, incredulous, and then kept up a running commentary. "Can we vote on that? Is it because he killed a bunch of people? Because so did I. Do I get breakfast? Is that a platter? He's getting orange juice? Should I go get flowers? Jesus, that's a lot of eggs. And that's a loaf. A whole loaf. Enough for a family. Of eight."

"It is a bit on the nose, Steve," Sam added. "I don't think excessive niceness is the way to go."

"Unless you're trying to seduce him," Nat added.

"That would explain the shirt he's wearing," Clint mused.

"Nah," Sam said. "All his shirts are too small."

Against his better judgment, Steve dignified them with a reply. "Accelerated healing depletes energy levels. He'll be ravenous. I know what that's like." He picked up the platter to carry it to his room.

"He's probably long gone, Steve," Natasha called after him just as Steve opened the door and found the Soldier by the window, one leg on the windowsill.

"Didn't mean to ruin your mysterious disappearance," Steve said, amused, and went to put the platter on the table.

The Soldier didn't move, didn't talk, just stared.

"Healing is hungry work," Steve added, then set the bottle with the pills next to the platter. "Take these. With you, I mean. If you take just one, it won't knock you out cold."

"Why?" the Soldier asked.

Steve guessed he wasn't asking him to further explain the effects of the pills. Weighing his words carefully, he gave the Soldier a steady look. "HYDRA cost me… everything. I think we have that in common. I think we can help each other."

He didn't wait for a reply. He didn't expect one.

"You can leave through the front door, you know," Steve added on his way out. He paused at the doorway. "Not sure why you're hiding your face, but I didn't look. While you slept. Just wanted you to know."

The Soldier stared at him for a moment, and then said, "I know."

*

"Isn't it too cold for ice cream?" Steve mused as he licked the spoon.

Natasha's mouth was too full to speak right away.

They were sitting in front of an ice cream shop, outside in the sun, though its rays weren't warm. Steve didn't recognize this part of town. It seemed rundown and barren. The ice cream was good, though.

"I hate that," Natasha said finally. "I hate that people think that. I hate that that's a thing. It's never too cold for ice cream. It's not weather-dependent. It's ice cream; it's good. In every season."

"I meant you. And me. And the fact you've been snappish with me the whole day. How come I get ice cream?"

"It's an apology, Rogers. I mean, obviously. Do I have to spell everything out for you?"

Rogers only ever came out when she was deflecting. He was beginning to learn how to read her. It was how he knew why they were here, really. She was ready to talk.

"Apologize for what? You haven't been proven wrong. Not yet." The Soldier had left after cleaning out the food down to the last crumb. He hadn't taken the pills, though.

Natasha was letting her ice cream melt. "For not telling you everything I know. I didn't trust my judgment. About him. I was hoping I could trust yours."

"So what changed? You think you can trust yourself or can't trust me?"

"It's not like that." She looked away at the old buildings, as though lost in thought, but Steve knew she was scoping the place yet again, wary of eyes that might be watching. "I just think we've both been compromised. Emotionally. Isn't it funny he can do that? He doesn't do much. Just stares."

Steve didn't think they were emotionally compromised in quite the same way, but that was just semantics, didn't matter. Steve had given the man a hug and almost cried about it. That did make him feel compromised. "What they did to him… It should cloud everyone's judgment."

Natasha smiled. "It wasn't that for me. I didn't know anything about it when I first met him." She scooped some ice cream, put it in her mouth, and rolled it around with her tongue, gathering her thoughts. Steve waited. "He trained me," she said eventually. "A lifetime ago." She snorted. "Clint would joke now. Say, Assassin school? Did you get an A and a red five-point star?"

"You knew him well, then?" It wasn't a shock but it was a surprise. Mentally, Steve went over everything Natasha had ever said about the Winter Soldier.

"That's a million-dollar question. How well did I know him? How do you get to know someone who doesn't know himself?"

"I got to know you."

Her eyes flashed. "I know myself, Steve. You don't know me as well as you think you do."

"I know the parts that matter. Who you are now."

"Does that go for both of us, then? The Winter Soldier and myself? You're collecting reformed assassins?" Her smile suggested she was teasing; Steve knew better.

"Is that what this was? A test? Is that why you didn't want to tell me more? You wanted to see what I'll think of him, knowing what he'd done and what he's trying to do now? I read your files, along with everyone else. I read between the lines, too. I've always believed people can change."

"The story is in the details. Those didn't make it in the files."

"Nat…" Steve set down the spoon, gave up on his ice cream. "You don't have to tell me anything. Not for me. Not anymore. I've made my call about you. And him. The only thing that can change is what happens from now on. That's my new motto: leaving the past behind. Tell me only if you want to do it for you. I mean it."

She stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. For me, then." She set her spoon down, too. "He trained me, like I said. He wasn't the only one, there were others. But he was… They weren't funny characters, you know. They were demanding, ruthless, cruel, experts at manipulation, and they wanted us… me… us, there were others, to be like them. They called it the Black Widow project. The name was apt. The training was brutal. The tests were… bloody." Her lips curved in a bitter smile. "Successful if the blood wasn't yours. I was always an overachiever. In the midst of all that, there was him, more ruthless and demanding than anyone. No hesitation, no emotion… but he was never sadistic. Never mean. He was efficient. Get it done and move on. I just want you to understand, for me, back then, among all of them, it felt like kindness. Kinder to the victims, kinder to us. Also, he was silent and handsome." She laughed. "And young. Well, he looked young."

Steve could guess where this was going.

"He was my comfort. I thought I was his. I told him things. Eventually. My doubts. My fears. Treasonous thoughts. He told no one. He never betrayed me." She took a shuddering breath and held Steve's gaze. "We did a few missions together. I loved them. They were easy. Quick. We killed them all fast, that was our mercy. Source of pride. Targets, witnesses, civilians, old, young, none of it mattered. Seduce, kill, celebrate." She looked away. "Then… we got sent to Bosnia. Senad Žilić was the victim. Arms dealer. Kept too much for himself during the war there. Ignored the warnings. Ignored his assignments. Stopped trying to destabilize the situation in the country, but got himself a nice quiet life. Family, kids. He could afford it. He had an army. Connections all over the region. He was too powerful and no use to our employers.

"We had to take out everyone who saw us. His whole family, guards. If we were to be identified, there's no way we'd ever get back alive, not to mention the Red Room wanted Senad's resources, his connections, his people, and one of their own in charge. Couldn't happen if the followers knew who killed him. We were quick and efficient, as always. Got in, moved through the house, took out targets. It was so easy. Until it wasn't. There were too many guards. We split up. I took care of the ones who went after me, was on my way out, to our rendezvous spot. And then I heard a sound coming from one of the rooms. Sobs. Got inside, found the source. It was a little girl, hiding beneath the bed. Should have been easy. Senad had more kids, older ones; they were already dead."

Steve closed his eyes while Natasha wasn't looking.

"She was… She had a stuffed animal. A bunny with a pink hat. She was trying to protect it. Hide it behind her back. And I just… left. Just a stupid little girl worried about a stuffed animal. She wouldn't identify me. I didn't know it then, but it turned out she saw the Soldier, too. At some point, earlier, while running to hide. She saw his metal arm. That was enough. Our cover blown, mission failed. We barely got out of Bosnia alive. Took refuge in the middle of nowhere in Kosovo. No hopes of extraction. The only choice the Red Room had was to claim we went rogue and to help Senad's people kill us. The Soldier… he couldn't understand what happened. So I told him." She shook her head as though trying to get rid of the memory. "He was so angry. Furious. Disappointed, apparently. Because I didn't kill a little girl. I thought he'd kill me himself. And something just… broke. The curtain fell. I saw who he really was. Who I was. Who they were. I was the one who was disappointed. And suddenly he looked like the worst of them. But we were stuck together. For days, weeks, I don't even know. It was hell. He got worse. He tried to kill me several times. Tried to kill himself. Broke every piece of furniture, then went down on his knees and just… stared. Blank, like a robot that shut down. He'd clawed at his face, didn't know me, asked who he was, asked where we were. He'd see his metal arm and freak out. I wished I could kill him. I tried…

"Senad's people found us eventually. I was glad. Figured at least they'd shoot us now and it would be over. I made my stand, though. I don't know. On instinct. Didn't want to go down without a fight. But then he just… snapped out of it or something. Walked out into the fray with a gun and started shooting. I went after him eventually.

"We lived and everyone else was dead. He shut down again. I thought, my god, he's not human. He's an actual robot. I wanted to run, but I was shot. Two bullets in my leg, one in my shoulder. I could barely move. The extraction team got us after all. They wanted to know what happened, of course. They wanted to hear it from him. He was in charge of the mission. But he was unresponsive. They beat him bloody, tased him, got no reaction; he might as well have been dead. Eventually, he started mumbling nonsense, numbers, names, places. They questioned me then. I was terrified and angry. So fucking angry. I— I told them it was his fault. I said he broke down, like this, see? And let a little girl live, failed to shoot her. The Soldier didn't deny it. He just looked at me, god, he seemed almost lucid for a moment, shocked, horrified. He said… he asked, 'I shoot little girls?' He sounded so broken. But it was…" There were tears in Natasha's eyes now. "I said it. It was done. I couldn't take it back. I didn't dare. No one questioned my story. They took him away. I barely got punished. Later, I heard stories. It happened before, the Soldier breaking down. An unfortunate flaw, but easily fixed. I saw him again, months later. He didn't even know me. Not long after, Clint got me and I defected." She stared at her mushy ice cream. "He terrifies me. But I owe him. I thought I owed him a quick death. I thought he'd appreciate it if he's remembering. I'm not sure he can bear it. But I read the files you brought back. I didn't know half of it. I don't know how the serum factors in. How much it can help. Make it worse? I don't know."

Steve tried to make his voice work. He'd been silent, listening, for too long. The bleak, hopeless existence Natasha had described seeped into his mind like poison. Was there a way out? Natasha couldn't seem to stop running.

"I don't know either," he said, voice thick. "If his brain heals, if he remembers everything, the memories will be clear, vivid. Could be more of a curse than a gift under the circumstances. Could depend on who he was before. Do you know?"

She shrugged. "Soldat. He didn't know his name. Wasn't given one."

"Soldier, though. Maybe that's what he was. Recruited, volunteered. Maybe he had training, before all this. Life, normalcy, beliefs. Maybe that's something to hold on to."

"I don't think his past will save him," Nat said quietly. "Right now, he's holding onto revenge. After that…"

"He'll need help. Professional help." Sam was right about that.

"It's not an option, Steve," she said in that tone that suggested she thought he was being naive again. "His options are limited. Running, which will get him killed, the Raft, which will break him, becoming an asset and an assassin for our side, whatever that means these days. Which, again, will break him. One way or the other."

"Our side could mean us. The Avengers."

She cocked her head and smiled. "And you know exactly why that could never happen."

He knew but didn't want to know. "Tony was horrified when he read the files. He's not made of stone, no matter how much he tries to pretend."

"Steve, you were there with me in Zola's lab. The Winter Soldier killed Tony's parents. If by some miracle Tony doesn't blast him to pieces when he finds out, that will be a display of compassion. He can't give more. We can't ask for more." She huffed. "We already screwed up. We should have told him."

"I meant to," Steve said, but why even defend himself? His excuses were jumbled. He didn't want to say anything because he had saved the Soldier's life and felt guilty about it at the time. And then things just got more complicated. Beyond that, he didn't want to open Tony's wounds anew.

"We can't make any calls," Steve said at last. "Not yet. The Winter Soldier is too unpredictable. We don't truly know which way he'll go. What we do know is that we're compromised. Emotionally." He smiled. "And we have to fix our mistake. We have to tell Tony."

Natasha didn't look happy about it, but she nodded. She scrunched up her nose at the melted ice cream, took out a crumpled bill from her pocket, and threw it on the table. "Good luck with that." She smirked.

"Right. Thanks." He was on his own there, then. Maybe that was better.

Steve nearly got up when Natasha grabbed his hand. "Why do you care? Not now. Before. Why did you save him? Really."

She shared too much with him today for Steve to brush her off.

He leaned back and sighed. "I like to draw," he said, watching her brows knit in confusion. "Would be presumptuous to call myself an artist, but that's what I aspired to be once. I like to draw people; I feel like that's how I get to know them better. I notice things. The shape of their eyebrows, the slant of their eyes, the imperfections of their irises…" It was difficult to say aloud, treacherous to a sacred memory. "He reminded me of someone. Even with the mask, the parts that I can see… It's not just some vague resemblance. I looked at the Soldier and I…" Steve blinked away the image in his mind, not of the Soldier, but of Bucky. "He's long gone, the man he reminds me of. I failed him. I owe him. I owe him so much. But there's nothing I can do about that. The only thing I can do is help the man who has his eyes."

Natasha stared at him, nodded, and squeezed his hand.

*

Steve was several hours too late.

Tony recovered the rest of the data from the New York base. There wasn't much intel on HYDRA's locations or the identities of its operatives, but there was footage. Selected examples of the Soldier's efficiency, including a recording of the Winter Soldier killing Tony's parents.

The fallout wasn't pretty. Steve didn't see any of the footage — he didn't ask to see it and Tony didn't offer to share it — but it must have been horrific.

The person Steve found in Tony's workshop that day wasn't the one who had given him a restored old photograph of his mom and Bucky, nor the one who had shown some animosity and doubt when they had first met. This Tony was hollow-eyed and cold.

All because Steve couldn't lie and tell him he didn't know. Worse, he tried to argue, remind Tony that the Soldier was a victim.

"Help me hunt him down," Tony said. "Put him out of his misery." That was Tony's final offer. A chance for Steve to redeem himself in Tony's eyes.

Steve refused, and lost a friend.

*

They found Nikola Bjelica after five weeks of intensive search. He was in a villa on Paros, sat behind a desk in his study, with a bullet in his head and already half-decomposed. Clint announced that in his expert opinion, he'd been dead for more than a month.

It was a bad day.

The Winter Soldier had not reappeared after Steve had let him go, and he was forced to accept that the Soldier had given him useless intel after all. He must have known where to look even then and got to the doctor ages before Steve and the others found him. And it was his kill. The ballistics proved it.

There was no appeasing Tony.

Bjelica was supposed to be their big break. And justification for Steve. No one told Tony that Steve had nursed the Soldier, let him sleep in his bed, and made him breakfast, but Tony knew that Steve had let him go, knowing what the Soldier had done.

Valuable intel might have melted some of the frostiness in Tony's eyes, but all they got was a thin paper trail: a list of safe house locations Bjelica had used and vacated in the last five years.

The list looked planted. Hidden away in Bjelica's burner phone, which they had found under a loose floorboard. Only Steve and Natasha were willing to chase that lead. Sam went with them, though, because it meant a road trip around Europe.

It wasn't a complete waste of time. Bjelica was clearly high-ranking and well-respected. He stayed only at expensive mansions belonging to rich and powerful people. All of them were HYDRA. It took some digging and spying, Fury's help, and very little fighting, but the three of them managed to bring down two ministers, an ambassador, a vice president, and a couple of UN employees. Natasha had a self-deprecating smile on her face as the three of them stood watching an EU parliament member being handcuffed and taken away.

"We're his errand boys, you do realize," she said.

"You're just upset you didn't get to punch anyone," Sam said. "This was good work."

"This was legwork." She sighed. "The Soldier slipped us some easy, randomly scattered targets because he just couldn't be bothered to round them up himself."

"If he has leads on something bigger," Steve said, "why can't we find anything?" Though he didn't necessarily disagree with her conclusion. This was good work. They had neutralized several powerful people who could have done a lot of harm. But it did seem like the Soldier had delegated this task to them, so there must have been something he considered to be more important.

"We can't find anything," Natasha said, "because everything digital is already out on the Internet. We got what we got. Anything bigger that we haven't found yet is stored in HYDRA's favorite hiding place."

"Floppy disks?" Sam joked.

"Brains," Steve said. "That's how it used to work. Every member memorized information. They'd guard it with their lives. No one knew everything, but put enough of them together… It's like Tony patching fragmented data recovered from a computer." Steve wasn't sure why he mentioned Tony; it hurt to do it.

"Some of their leaders, the fanatics, they'd keep their old ways," Natasha mused. "That's the info we can't get to. And the Winter Soldier, the one who did their most important wet work, whose brain kept getting wiped, he might be the biggest repository of non-digital information on HYDRA."

"Except that data is also fragmented, then," Sam said. "And he's not doing so hot. I mean, if he'd destroyed some Big Bad, we'd've heard about it. There hasn't been a peep."

That was true. There hadn't been a peep. Several sightings of the Soldier all over Europe, which they had tried to chase, but either the information was no good or the Soldier somehow managed to always stay one step ahead.

"I still think he's after the serum," Steve said. The serum they had found in the New York base was fake, according to Banner. The Soldier must have realized it and that was why he had so carelessly left it on the floor. "I don't think he outright lied to me. I think he knows that it exists, but hasn't found the source yet. He must have really thought this guy, Bjelica, was behind it. But he can't have been. If he had made the serum and then given HYDRA a dud, he wouldn't have been hiding in their safe house. The Soldier realized that when he found him there, alive. Someone else made the serum and they're not willing to give it to HYDRA. Could be morals, could be a better offer, or they think HYDRA is too hot right now."

"Eh." Sam grimaced. "Let's not forget that Rumlow's plan was hasty and desperate. And I'm not saying that because I hated the guy 'cause he called me a kid that one time. I mean, using creepy kids? SMS cloak and dagger games? It's embarrassing. Maybe someone played him. Saw a chance to get easy money. Sure, I got the super soldier serum, sir, it's all blue and stuff, see? C'mon. I'd do it to Rumlow."

"It's possible," Natasha said, almost apologetically, "that the Soldier might not be thinking clearly, and he's chasing something that doesn't exist."

"But it does exist," Steve insisted. "They had a working version at one point and made him. If they have done it once, they can do it again. I don't think we have a choice here. We just have to let him chase that lead."

"Except," Sam said, "in the meantime, without his intel, HYDRA is regrouping."

Steve waved a hand at the cars that were slowly disappearing from view. "High profile arrests should keep them on their toes." He kept his hand up in anticipation of more complaints. "All I'm saying is, we're done here. It's time to go back to New York. We can't waste time looking for him. He doesn't want to be found. The intel he gave us dried up, now we'll find our own. That means we regroup, start over, examine every angle. Including the possibility that the new version of the serum exists."

"Tony won't stop looking for him," Natasha said quietly. "Just because he's not tracking him down with us, doesn't mean he's not doing it. There's a lot he can do while sitting in a chair. You know what happens if he finds him before we do. And it's not like we can outrun Iron Man."

"I don't have a solution, Nat," Steve said tiredly. "I don't know how to stop Tony. Not in a friendly way and that's the only way I can consider. I'm sorry. I know we said we'll try to help the Winter Soldier, but there are some things I'm not willing to risk for someone who doesn't want our help." Steve had been overwhelmed by pity and the desire to help at one point, but right now it seemed that Tony needed more help than the Soldier. "I can only hope that Tony might reconsider once he actually faces the Soldier. He's not a killer."

"I don't know, Steve," Sam said. "I don't know Stark as well as you two, but if he saw a recording of his parents getting murdered by this guy… Maybe if it had been a written record, but this… It can mess with anyone's head."

Natasha pursed her lips. "That's not the only problem. The Soldier is a survivor, it's ingrained in him, it's instinct. If Tony attacks, he'll fight back. There'll be no time for Tony to question his morals." She shook herself as though coming to a decision. "You're right. There's nothing we can do. It was a longshot anyway."

"So…" Sam's eyebrows rose. "We're not going to check out the possible sighting in Vienna?" His lips twitched. "I've never been."

Natasha shrugged. "We can go to Vienna."

"Sure," Steve said. Natasha's face was closed off; she seemed excessively bored. "But first," he added, "we should get some ice cream. To celebrate. I know a place."

Sam grimaced. "Isn't it too cold—"

Steve silenced him with a look.

"

Sometimes, Steve had breakfast in a small cozy diner not far from their apartment. Everything seemed too sleek to Steve in Manhattan. It felt like an alien world. Still, it was better than Brooklyn. No matter how changed it was, in Brooklyn, every corner brought back a memory. There were many bad memories, objectively, Steve knew it. There was death and disease and hunger, but the memories that usually resurfaced were good ones — his mother's smile, Bucky's laughter, kids running after the ice cream trucks. They made him yearn, but what was there to yearn for? It was all gone. Same city, whole new people.

Bucky would have loved this. The sleek, the new, the futuristic. He could make Steve enjoy it too.

The Winter Soldier slipped into a seat across Steve, smooth and easy as though they had prearranged a meeting. They didn't. There'd been no sign of him for three months, and now there he was, in a dark jacket and jeans, baseball cap, and a black scarf wrapped around his nose and mouth.

Steve might not have recognized him instantly if he hadn't been thinking about Bucky and then suddenly found his eyes staring at him. Bucky's eyes, but none of their warmth.

These comparisons had to stop. This was a broken, unpredictable man and a killer, not someone who'd rub Steve's back while Steve tried not to cough out his lungs.

There was no good explanation for the thrill that ran down Steve's spine. No, there was. It was shock. Three months was a long time. Steve had been slowly making peace with the fact that the Winter Soldier was dead. It was a relief to know he wasn't.

"You look like you might rob the place," Steve said. "That still draws attention."

"It's New York." The Soldier's voice was low and muffled.

He had a point. Steve had seen stranger people in the city. The Soldier could have merely been a germaphobe. Maybe he was. Maybe that was the big secret.

"Do you want some breakfast?" Steve asked because he was polite, and the Soldier did nothing but watch him eat.

"Why do you keep trying to feed me? Do you think I spend my days on the streets starving?" the Soldier asked, for all the world sounding insulted.

"I think you spend your time on the streets pickpocketing in order to finance food and shelter. I thought I'd save a random stranger's buck."

The Soldier's metal arm made a tiny whirring sound, as though it twitched. "There are better ways to steal. We live in a digital age."

"I see." Steve chewed on his waffle. "So you're a liar and a thief."

The metal fingers clenched this time. The Soldier leaned in. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know I'd track down Bjelica so quickly."

"Yeah, it took us more than a month. Fun waste of time."

"You made do," the Soldier said curtly. "I watch the news."

"You mean the list in Bjelica's phone you so graciously hadn't destroyed? Tell me, how would you feel if instead of offering you breakfast, I just gave you crumbs?"

The Soldier's gaze flitted to Steve's waffles. "I'd be shocked. You're very careful with those crumbs."

For the briefest moment, there was humor in the Soldier's eyes, but then it was gone, and the Soldier went back to looking angry. Steve almost decked him when he reached into his jacket, but all he took out were several sheets of battered-looking papers.

"Here." The Soldier pushed them towards Steve across the table. "An apology."

"I thought we lived in the digital age. You could have sent an email."

"Didn't feel like transcribing it," the Soldier said, and Steve scanned the topmost page. There were names and dates, brief descriptions of wrongdoings by the people listed as well as wrongdoings by the Soldier.

The handwriting was inconsistent, sometimes relatively neat, sometimes wobbly as though the letters themselves were shivering. Some things were scratched out, others circled, the margins were full, words squeezed in all directions. Everything was jumbled like a letter pulled out of a nightmare. And that was exactly what it was, Steve realized. The Soldier's nightmares, memories deposited on paper in the random order they had returned.

"If something in there is wrong, it's not a lie," the Soldier said. "I could simply be wrong. I have no proof, no paper trail, no digital trail, just this."

"We can investigate," Steve said, then looked the Soldier in the eye. "The we could include you."

The Soldier's face betrayed nothing. "Yeah, no. But if you want me to deal with that list on my own I can."

The Soldier meant it. He'd kill every person on this list if necessary. It wasn't a threat, just a statement of fact. Maybe an offer. Maybe even acceptance of an upcoming order.

"I'll deal with it," Steve said.

The Soldier's shoulders visibly relaxed. It was a plea, then. The Soldier didn't want to look deeper into his nightmares.

But this was progress. Up until recently the Soldier only executed people. He could have done the same to the people on this list.

"I just want to make it clear," Steve said, "I was trying to make you an offer. To work with us."

The Soldier's eyes crinkled a little. He might have smiled, but he wasn't amused. "Us meaning Avengers? And Tony Stark?"

Ah. "I wasn't sure if you remember…"

"I do." He was emotionless again.

"Well, no, I didn't mean Tony. Not yet."

"Not ever." The Soldier stared. "I know he had recovered the data from the HYDRA base. He's not an easy person to dodge. And that was not an easy recording to see."

The Soldier regretted it. He must have. Regretted what he'd been forced to do, was fully aware of the horror of it all. He felt sorry for Tony. It was clear in his voice.

"If you surrender, come quietly, with me, he might not—"

"Might," the Soldier repeated, dismissive. "I can't. Not yet. I have things to do."

"Like finding the serum? You're sure it exists?"

The Soldier's eyebrows rose. "I am. They weren't."

"Meaning?"

"They have a working version. Had it for years. Maybe not as good as yours, but good enough. They think it's wrong because they can't get what they want. They think it's the formula. All this time they hadn't figured out what's wrong."

"And you did? So what's wrong with it?"

"The same thing that's wrong with yours."

Steve blinked in surprise. "What's wrong with mine?"

"They wanted you. Their version of you. They want super soldiers they can control. Who will mindlessly share their beliefs. They think that's who you are. Perfectly brainwashed. No hassle, no forced inactivity, no fear of their soldier breaking down in inopportune moments. A willing slave who will fight their battles and thank them for it."

"That's who you think I am?"

"No." The Soldier was frustrated now. "And now they don't think that either, not after you took down S.H.I.E.L.D. They get it now. Finally. No one who took the serum can be controlled. It makes them, us…" The Soldier's eyes bore into his. "Too aware."

That was something a fanatic like the Red Skull would say. Too aware, superior, leaving humanity behind.

"You're wrong," Steve said.

"I'm not. You just don't want to examine it too deeply. I'm not giving a villain's speech here. All I'm saying is that much awareness and the ability and will to act… it doesn't make you a good follower. Not if there's even a hint of doubt. I've seen a lot of versions of that serum at work, the doubt always comes, the control always fails."

That didn't sound that crazy.

"So, you think they've realized this is the best version they'll ever get and have now decided to use it. Make more super soldiers they can control. The same way they made you."

"No. That was just Rumlow. He's a thug. A goon with a gun. He was acting on his own. See, they get it now. Red Skull had the right idea. The serum is not meant for soldiers or followers. It's meant for leaders. They'll take it themselves."

"And who is they?"

"I don't know. Maybe some of the people on that list." He jerked his head at the papers he'd given Steve. "Maybe someone in the shadows. Maybe they had already taken the serum. Maybe they haven't yet." That was too many maybes for someone who sounded so sure.

"But how do you know that? If you don't know who they are, how do you know their plans?"

"Because I do!" The Soldier snapped. Several people looked their way.

Suddenly, the Soldier went still, bent his neck, and stayed like that. Steve was confused for several moments and then he realized… He'd reached across the table and grabbed the Soldier's hand, the flesh one, in some instinctive desire to calm him. The touch seemed to turn the Soldier to stone.

Slowly, Steve retreated his hand. "Look," he said quietly. "Let me help." He wasn't really sure what he was offering: help in finding these leaders or maybe helping the Soldier deal with this obsessive paranoid state he was in. The theory had merit. It wasn't unreasonable. But Steve strongly suspected it was just a theory. Something the Soldier was afraid of: superpowered HYDRA leaders, lurking in the shadows, biding their time, waiting to jump at him.

"You will." The Soldier still wasn't looking at him. His hand was right where it had been. As though waiting for another touch. "There are some big names on that list," the Soldier added. "It could be one of them."

Steve realized the Soldier was absolutely sure it wasn't any of them. These people were the ones he'd excluded. The papers were torn from a bigger notebook.

This was… a psychological breakdown of some sort. He was remembering people, bad people, watching them, stalking them. Thinking of reasons why he should kill them? Reasons why he shouldn't kill them?

"All right," Steve said, gently. "If you need something, you know where I live."

The Soldier said nothing, looked up, stared at him for a while longer, then got up.

"You were right," he said, reaching into his jacket again. This time Steve didn't even blink. "Sometimes, I do pickpocket." The Soldier threw Steve's wallet onto the table and left.

With a sigh, Steve checked its contents. He'd just been at the ATM. At least the Soldier left him a twenty. Which… Steve realized he'd just been robbed, but the fact that the Soldier had made sure Steve could pay for his breakfast was just…. Well, unexpectedly charming.

Maybe the Soldier was the kind of person who'd rub Steve's back when he coughed.

What a strange thought that was.

Chapter Text

Three days later they found the HYDRA facility in DC, almost by chance. One of the Soldier's notes hinted at the location, but it was scratched out. Natasha managed to recover it after scanning the note and doing god-knows-what to it on her computer. It was quite obviously the one the Soldier was kept in during Project Insight. It was viciously destroyed. There were no casualties, the place had been abandoned, and a layer of dust suggested it had been destroyed months ago.

The cryo chamber and the chair were reduced to shreds. This must have happened right after the Helicarriers crashed, and the Soldier had been enraged. If the HYDRA members hadn't escaped, they'd probably be shredded, too.

"You know, if he ever joins the Avengers, his code name could be Hurricane," Natasha commented as though amused and not affected.

"That won't ever happen," Steve said gently. They had to be realistic here.

She snorted. "I'm aware, Rogers."

Steve feared she wasn't.

*

Weeks dragged out as they were working on the Soldier's list, working on recovering the data from the HYDRA DC base, working on reaching out to Tony.

Tony not shaving and reeking of alcohol had been warning enough, but Steve consistently found him out of his workshop, in his living room, eating pizza and watching TV.

After all this time, Steve no longer knew what to say to him. But he kept coming, kept trying.

"We took down a senator today," Steve said, sitting down on one of the armchairs, far enough from Tony to not invade his space. "Wills. You never liked him."

"Cool." Tony didn't look at him. "Go send a thank you note to your boyfriend."

Only Steve got the boyfriend jab, even though Natasha had explained her connection to the Soldier, not in detail, but she'd said enough. She only got teased with comrade. It annoyed Steve the first few times Tony had said it, but he'd stopped acknowledging it weeks ago.

"Natasha made it happen. It wasn't easy. We could have used you."

"Well, you could have been a friend. Neither of us got what we wanted." He took a big bite of his pizza, munching loudly, on purpose. It could have been funny.

"I am your friend, Tony. Friends make mistakes."

Tony looked at him, still chewing. "That's a pattern with you, isn't it? Your last BFF, you got him killed, right? So if you think about it, you calling me a friend is kind of a threat."

Steve forced himself not to react. Lately, Tony liked to mention Bucky, too, liked to say the nastiest things about it. He knew just how to hurt Steve. And it was effective, not just because Tony was poking at a wound that had never and would never heal, but because every time Steve was reminded of the photograph Tony had found and restored. It was the most emotional gift Steve had ever received, despite of or because of the lack of ceremony. He wanted that feeling back, that connection, that friendship, which had come unbidden and sudden. Tony had been a friend. Still was, as far Steve was concerned. He was Howard's son. That meant a lot. He was a connection to the past; Steve had so few of them.

What would Howard think of this? Would he want Tony to let this go or would he urge him to avenge his death?

The answer was clear once Steve thought about it: neither. Howard would want Steve to put down the Soldier for everyone's sake.

Tony snorted. "Never thought I'd enjoy kicking a puppy. Oh." His eyes widened. "Puppies. That's funny. I'm actually just watching Old Yeller. Ever seen it, Cap?"

"I have." Despite Sam's warnings. It was a sad movie, but Steve didn't cry. There was something wrong with him. He couldn't cry anymore. The last time he cried was after Bucky had died. He might have cried all his tears away that day.

Tony took another bite of pizza. "You know, people think this is a sad movie. A rabid dog dies, boo-hoo. It's not sad. It's educational. Rabies is fucking horrible. You get bit, ignore it, and then eventually you get these symptoms, and you think it's a cold, the flu, but by then you're already dead. You don't know it, but you're a dead man walking. It only gets worse. And you're innocent, like the damn dog, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything. Shooting that dog, that's mercy. You know what's not mercy? Strangling someone. That's a shit way to die. And that's what he did to my mom. Crushing someone's face in? That's what he did to my dad. Beat him to death. And all I want to do is shoot him. Put him out of his misery. How am I the bad guy?"

"You're not," Steve said. "But if I let you do it, then I'm the bad guy. I'd shoot the Old Yeller, too, Tony. But the Soldier isn't a rabid dog."

"He is. But for some reason, you can't see it." He shrugged. "That's fine. I'm not mad." He never looked angrier. "You do your thing, I'll do mine."

And that was that. Tony looked back at the screen and Steve could not get another word out of him. Not even about the HYDRA files they had brought back from DC and surrendered to Tony because Natasha couldn't crack them. Whatever was on there, Tony might never share.

But that was fine. Steve would try again tomorrow.

*

Talking to Nat after talking to Tony always seemed wise. She had sympathy for everyone who felt homicidal. She'd put things into perspective, find an angle Steve didn't think of.

He barged into her room the way she always barged into his. He should have known better.

The Winter Soldier was on her windowsill. He took one look at Steve and bolted.

"Sorry," Steve said honestly, pushing down an odd sense of jealousy that the Soldier hadn't come to him. This was okay, though. This was how it should have been. Natasha was the one with the emotional connection, a wrong to right, a past to make peace with, a lover to rescue.

It was curious, though, that the Soldier had kept his mask on, even with Natasha, who had seen his face.

"The one time you don't knock," she said warily.

"Sorry," Steve said again. "Didn't know he was here. Didn't know he'd run."

"He's…" She shrugged. "Unwell. I see what you meant now. He's rational. Convincing. And yet I can't help feeling like he's on the verge of a breakdown."

Steve nodded. "He remembers you, though. We weren't sure."

She sat on her bed and Steve sat beside her.

"Yeah, he remembers. Now. He didn't before, apparently."

"Is he… upset? Because of what happened in Kosovo?"

She snorted. "No. He commended my strategy. Didn't really make me feel better."

"Did he have more info?"

"Not exactly." She looked at him, unusually vulnerable. "He's thinking about coming in. Surrendering."

"He can't."

"Not to us. The US government."

"We considered the options. That was one of the worst ones. Tony shooting him might actually be kinder."

"You don't mean that," Natasha said gently. "Either way, things might not be as bleak. If he told me the truth, his chances just went up one hundred percent." She looked truly surprised. "He says he's an American soldier. Not Russian, not a volunteer. Captured."

That was… "Do you believe him?"

"He always had a talent for languages. But I was sure he was Russian. I don't know. Could it be the serum? Makes it easier to learn languages?"

"Yeah."

"Then he could be American. Or Russian. Or Romanian. Or French. He says he can prove it, though. He says it's not an issue. I don't see why he would lie."

"Prove it how? He looks young, but he's not. We've established that. When did this even happen?" An American soldier. They had to tell Tony. This changed things. This changed everything. This meant that the Soldier was always a victim. Abandoned by his country. He hadn't taken the serum willingly. He was owed a rescue.

"I don't know. He wasn't terribly detailed. I talked about myself, how I defected, the things it entailed. It's not exactly an uplifting story. He asked if him being an American soldier would make a difference. I told him it would. But I'm not sure how much of a difference. He killed many. And you're again assuming Tony would care."

"He has to. Tony was a prisoner once. Had his body modified, got tortured."

"And he escaped and hadn't become an assassin. He'd just see that as an argument in his favor. It's better not to draw that comparison. Their situations were different. Tony's captors needed his mind intact. The Soldier's needed his body. Tony is not in the right state of mind to sympathize, let alone relate. You need to accept that."

Steve rubbed his forehead. If he could get a headache, he'd welcome it. It would have been a distraction. Maybe he could take one of his pills. Take two and sleep like the dead. He was right to be reminded of Bucky. A captured American soldier. Jesus. Steve was meant to help him.

"We have to go public," Natasha said. "It's our only option. It's a tragic story. People will demand fair treatment. Compensation. He's actually disabled, too. And good-looking," she added as an afterthought.

"Is that important?"

Natasha laughed. "Don't play dumb. I'm not a history buff, but I've seen the footage of your performance."

Oh, great.

"It's showbiz, baby. You know what goes into it if you want people to listen," she went on. "It's worse than ever these days. We need to make use of everything we've got to keep the media on our side. That's the road to salvation. Punching through this mess won't work."

Steve would prefer punching things, but he could do this, too. Natasha was right; he knew how. It might not be easy for the Soldier, but Steve could compensate for that, speak for him when needed. If the story goes viral, the Soldier got support from the military, and at least some of the Avengers, not even Tony could touch him. Not without dire consequences.

"You think he'll go for that? The Soldier?" Steve looked at her so he could see her face while she answered. "Did he tell you his name?"

"No. No name. And no, I don't think he'll appreciate the limelight. We need to find out who he is and convince him to do this our way. You have to convince him."

"Me? Shouldn't it be you?"

Natasha gave him a wry smile. "He calls you Captain and can't go through a sentence without mentioning you." She didn't seem angry about it, more amused. She could have been faking it.

The little knot of jealousy in the pit of Steve's stomach eased, then vanished. He was afraid he'd be excluded, afraid he wouldn't be allowed to help. Can't go through a sentence without mentioning you. That statement did strange things to Steve's heart.

"We can both try," he said. "It would be easier if we could first find out who he was. Find out about his life. Use that to bring him back mentally."

"Yeah, that won't be easy. We don't even know when he was captured or where. He didn't tell me. If he was really active since the sixties… I don't even know where to start. He killed the Starks in '91. And even that was a long time ago. It's not a few taps on a keyboard. Tony could help, of course, but he won't. He'd prefer the Soldier to stay nameless and faceless."

All true. "I don't suppose the Soldier told you when he plans to visit again?"

She shook her head. "Honestly, though?" She looked out into the night. "I think you should leave your window open."

Steve did.

*

Steve must not have truly expected the Soldier to visit his room because the evening he finally found him standing by the foot of Steve's bed his heart stuttered.

He'd just finished his shower and walked out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips. It was a good thing he lived with Nat and Sam now or he wouldn't have bothered with a towel.

The Soldier had his mask on, full gear, armor and leather, which Steve knew made him look much bulkier than he truly was. He didn't say anything, only stared, eyes flickering over Steve's body.

Steve wasn't shy. Never was. Even back when he was a skinny slip of a man and nothing much to look at. He'd been examined by too many doctors and nurses to think much of it. Or maybe it was just his nature not to be shy.

But he felt shy now. It was a new feeling, completely unexpected. Maybe it was the way the Soldier was looking at him or a strange sense of vulnerability, that he was unarmed and unprotected, not even by a layer of clothing while the Soldier looked ready for battle.

Steve's voice was steady, though, when he asked, "Is this a social call or should I put on my uniform?"

"I didn't come here with a mission," the Soldier said, gaze still on Steve's body.

Steve nodded, and, annoyed with himself, walked to the closet to get his clothes. It seemed important not to show he was in any way affected. He took out an undershirt, underwear, and sweatpants and chucked off the towel as though he didn't care. He did turn his back to the Soldier as he got dressed. The Soldier might have been watching; Steve didn't know. He imagined it, though, and fought to keep his hands steady.

When Steve turned back, dressed, the Soldier was sitting at the foot of the bed, looking down at his knees.

Steve walked over and sat down next to him.

The Soldier was silent. Steve didn't want to ask the obvious question: Why are you here? It could sound rude, as though he wasn't wanted.

"What unit were you in?" Steve asked instead. "Which war?"

It didn't look like the Soldier would answer.

"Why are you like this?" the Soldier asked at last.

"Like what?"

The Soldier was still looking at his knees. "You know everything Natalia had done. Everyone does. It's on the internet. And I... I've been active longer. Everything you know about her... Just multiply it. By a lot. And apply it to me." He looked up. "Why care? Why help me? Why.... sit here and not...? Why?"

Maybe Steve could have explained, told the Soldier he reminded him of someone he'd lost, but that was no longer the only truth. It wasn't just about Bucky. The Soldier was so different in so many ways. Steve wanted to help him.

"Because it's the right thing to do," Steve said.

The soldier wasn't happy with that answer.

"The right thing? I thought better of you. I thought you knew right from wrong."

"If you thought that, then you'd believe me."

The Soldier looked away again. "You think I didn't have a choice. But I did. The same choice you had when you crashed the Valkyrie. My life or the lives of those who would die if I failed to act."

"That's not the same thing," Steve said, horrified. "You can't compare those situations."

"Why not? I could have done it, in the beginning. It wouldn't have been easy. I'd have to be creative. I can think of so many ways now. I could have killed myself. It could have saved many. Instead, I hoped…" His voice cracked, but he pushed on. "Instead, I let them take me apart. You'd have done it. You'd find the strength to do it before they could—"

"No," Steve said firmly. "You aren't thinking straight. Look, I've seen prisoners of war, many of them. Some cracked, some didn't. Ultimately, it's not about them. I don't mean to disrespect, but some got lucky, were rescued on time or they weren't put through the torture the others suffered. Everyone has a limit. It might not be the same for everyone, but everyone has one. It's just the way it is. Whoever made you think otherwise, they lied. What you've been through, that's past every limit imaginable.

"But you're right: it could have been me. Why not? I got lucky, too. I could have been captured during the war, or after, HYDRA could have found me. In a way they did; in a way I was doing their bidding. Isn't that funny? But… would I kill myself? How can I answer that? I can't even imagine what you've been through. Don't you see? Point is, we have more in common than you think. The thing that gets me, though? Here you are. Still fighting. You say you were torn apart, but what I see is you trying to piece yourself together. You want to know why I want to help? That's why. Because I see there is a chance."

The Soldier didn't speak and, slowly, carefully, Steve put his hand on the Soldier's back, right below the neck, palm spread. He had no idea if that would be unwelcome. Odd, even. Uncomfortable. The Soldier wasn't hurt and drugged this time. For all Steve knew, he didn't even remember asking to be held months ago, right here on this bed. But he looked like he needed comfort. He had no other reason to come.

The Soldier stiffened, but he didn't move away, didn't move at all.

They stayed like that, Steve barely breathing, and then the Soldier leaned in, into the touch, moved his head, careful like Steve, slow, until his forehead touched Steve's shoulder.

Emotion that Steve didn't want to identify surged up within him and he pulled the Soldier into a hug, wrapping his arms around him. Steve's fingers reached for the Soldier's hair — it was wet; why was it wet? It didn't matter. Steve caressed it anyway.

He shouldn't have spoken, he knew that, he resisted it for several long minutes, but eventually, he said, "Let me help. Stay here, with me. Let me... I'll figure it out. You don't have to do anything. Just stay..."

The Soldier jerked away and stood up. It left Steve feeling empty.

"I can't," the Soldier said, firm, resolute. "Not yet. Not... I can't."

Yet. There was some hope there, then.

The Soldier's neck was bent, hair falling into his face. Steve could barely see a glimpse of his forehead. So it was a shock when the Soldier looked down at him, his right hand coming up to touch Steve's face, Steve's jaw, his thumb moving in a caress, then digging in to hold him firmly.

Steve's body should not have reacted the way it did. There was no sense to it. What was it about this man that made Steve hyperaware of every tiny movement he made? Every hint of emotion in his eyes? And this touch, which was no more intimate than the embrace Steve had just given, had pulled his whole body taut, filled him with yearning he had never experienced before. Not even for Peggy. That was terrifying.

The Soldier pulled away, ran to the window, and jumped out.

It took Steve an hour to calm down.

*

Sometimes missions went sideways. Because they just did.

Standard op, plan of action made, backup ready, and yet one unknown variable could turn it all around.

And sometimes missions went sideways because they were too hastily planned.

They were investigating a name on the Soldier's list. A CEO of a weapons manufacturing company. The Winter Soldier had helped the company get a government contract two years ago by taking out the competition. Natasha remembered the story. The competition's missiles had a defect that had caused an early explosion, which killed twenty civilians in the Middle East. But apparently there was no defect. The Soldier had staged the whole thing.

Tony had actually helped this time. Or rather had charged Maria Hill and Pepper to help them. Hill met with the CEO, representing Stark Industries on a bogus deal and got access to records with Tony's specially designed gadget. Eventually, that led them to a factory in North Virginia, owned by a subsidiary whose books were so clean they immediately caught Pepper's eye.

Steve and Natasha only meant to check it out, stealthily, in the middle of the night. What they found was a ton of experimental weapons and skinny-looking immigrants assembling them at two in the morning.

That was the first unforeseen variable — hostages. The second was blaring alarms and a ten-minute countdown sequence till self-destruction. The third was heavily armed men eager to put every bullet they had in Nat's and Steve's heads.

They had to save themselves; they couldn't reach the hostages. The area was enormous, and Steve and Nat had walked in like a couple of idiots. Steve heard the hostages scream and plead as the armed men rounded them up and forced them out. The bullets kept coming.

"They're definitely HYDRA," Steve said as they took cover behind a large piece of machinery. "They'd rather stay and make sure we die with them than go for the exits." Bullets hit the metal and whizzed past, not hitting them for now. Natasha shot back occasionally, but she was preserving her ammunition. The recorded voice which was counting down had previously announced a complete lockdown, but there had to be an exit otherwise why the countdown?

There was a door to their left, but they couldn't get to it without getting shot, and it led in the opposite direction of where they saw them rush the hostages. They were still alive; Steve had heard their screams fade away slowly. Why shoot them if the factory was about to explode anyway? There was still a chance.

Natasha fired two more shots and got back down. "Steve," she panted. "On their right, there are crates with so many grenades. I can't keep them away for much longer."

Steve raised his shield. "That might not be a bad th—" One of the grenades dropped right in front of them, glowing green and beeping. Steve could have kicked it, used his shield as protection, thrown it onto the grenade, but without a second thought, he picked it up, shot to his feet, and slung it back, right where Natasha saw the crates.

"Steve!" Natasha cried, scandalized, but Steve had already hauled her up and propelled them both through the door on their left, shield first, as explosions and screams tore through their ears.

"You idiot!" Natasha yelled even as she dropped to her feet and ran. "You could have blown out your arm! Your head!"

"Faster!" Steve said instead. The countdown was at six minutes, and if Steve remembered the schematics correctly, and he did, they had a long way to run, all the way around to reach the point through which the hostages had disappeared.

There was still time and no one was following them. All they had to—

The explosion shook the floor beneath their feet, exactly from the direction they were running toward. The countdown stopped.

"No," Natasha breathed. "There was still time."

Jesus. The hostages. There were at least thirty of them; some of them looked so young.

"Shield!" Natasha yelled as they rounded a corner, but Steve had already heard the whistle of the missile. It hit the shield squarely in the middle and thrust him backwards, slamming his body against a stack of heavy metal pipes. The noise was deafening, the blow to his head disorienting.

There was no time to take a breath. A dozen men with armor, taser rods, and guns were on him in seconds.

They'd shoot him if Natasha wasn't firing at them. She didn't have much ammunition left, but it was enough to give Steve a chance to get to his feet. There were too many of them, they had too many guns, and they clearly had no intention of taking them alive.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Natasha jump one guy, wrapping her legs around his neck while hitting another one with a metal pipe. Steve took two down with his shield, one more with a kick and another with a headbutt. The others started dropping like flies even though neither Steve nor Natasha touched them.

The last man standing had his gun pointed at Steve's head, but he fell down with a knife protruding from his neck.

Some subconscious part of Steve's brain must have realized what had happened because he wasn't even surprised when he saw the Soldier moving towards them, gun still raised as his eyes swept the floor.

"Did you put a tracker on Steve?" Natasha asked, sounding indignant.

There was no time for that. "The workers, they're hostages," Steve said. "There was an explosion—"

"They're out." The Soldier finally lowered his gun.

"Did you—?"

"No. They were escaping when I got here. Half of the south wall is blown away."

Natasha frowned.

Maybe the hostages made their own way. They had access to weapons, maybe they blew out the wall, took down their guards or there were no more guards because they all went after Natasha and Steve.

The Soldier cocked his head. "Did you two come alone? Because the wall collapsed inward—"

The Soldier froze and then screamed just as the familiar hum of discharged energy reached Steve's ears. Only after the Soldier doubled over and fell to his knees did Steve see Iron Man standing behind him, some twenty feet away, arm still raised, palm flat.

The Soldier kept screaming; there was smoke rising from his metal arm.

"Tony, what did you do?" Natasha asked, staring at the Soldier, horrified.

"I'm rescinding mercy," Tony said. "He should go out suffering."

Natasha spun the metal pipe that was still in her hand and sent it flying. That was no threat to Iron Man; it did nothing but distract him. But that was all Steve needed. He threw his shield and it hit Tony right in the middle of his chest. The lights of the suit started flickering.

"Take him and go," Natasha yelled. "I'll deal with Tony. Get the Quinjet, you know where to land. Go."

Steve considered this for a split second. Tony wouldn't hurt Natasha. He wasn't that far gone. If he was, he wouldn't have freed the hostages first.

He would kill the Soldier, though. And Steve? All bets were off there.

Steve grabbed the Soldier and pulled him up to his feet, but the Soldier was deadweight. He'd mercifully stopped screaming, but he was barely conscious, his breaths coming out in pained gasps. There was a buzz coming from his arm.

"Find out what he did," Steve hissed even as Natasha charged Tony, picking up Steve's shield as she went.

Steve threw the Soldier over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and ran.

*

They had drugs on the Quinjet, the kind that could affect even the Hulk — for about two minutes, not resulting in sedation but increasingly disoriented smashing, but they worked on Steve just fine. Discounting the nausea and the feeling of sinking into an abyss.

He had no idea what to do. He didn't know what was wrong with the Soldier exactly, all he knew was that the man was in severe pain. Maybe giving him something that would knock him out would be a medical disaster, but Steve could no longer listen to his gasps and screams.

He landed the jet in an abandoned power plant outside of Jersey, a place Natasha would know to check, and now he could do little but wait for her. He tried to get hold of Banner, but that was rarely possible. Tony would know how to contact him. Tony would know how to fix whatever he'd done. A random doctor couldn't, not that Steve knew any he could trust. That was the biggest problem — trust. Even if he knew someone who could feasibly help and he could trust, that didn't mean he could trust them with the Winter Soldier's life. Natasha might know someone, but she wasn't here and wouldn't be here for a while. It was more likely Steve would have to fire up the jet and go get her.

Steve had placed the Soldier on a stretcher, held his hand, stroked his hair, murmured nonsense, all in vain. The Soldier didn't appear to register anything.

The drugs were a godsend. They worked within five minutes once Steve gave him a shot and the Soldier fell asleep. Steve could finally think.

He remembered they had some sort of scanning device on the jet. Clint had fractured his tibia once and Banner used it on him. Steve distinctly remembered Clint asking Banner if that was a medical scanner. Banner had said, "Eh," but it worked just fine.

It took some time to find it and a little less time to figure out how it worked. Though scanning the Soldier's arm didn't make Steve much wiser. He must have done it wrong. The images were blurry in a way they weren't when Banner had done it to Clint. Maybe because of the metal.

Natasha showed up two hours later, which was a miracle. She said she had a friend with a chopper but didn't explain where she got the bike she rode from wherever she had landed.

She was completely unharmed, but fuming.

"Tony sent some sort of feedback to the EMP device the Soldier used on him in that fanlair." She looked through Steve's scans. "See, there. I think that's it. Right in his shoulder."

"Okay," Steve said, not sure he knew what he was looking at.

"It's pulsing. It's making the whole construction vibrate. Including the metal parts fused with his flesh. That's what's causing him pain."

And that was why the images were blurry.

"Okay," Steve said, pushing all his emotions away. "How do we stop it?"

She gave him one of her pitying looks. "Tony didn't tell me that to be helpful. The device will eventually explode. If we try to remove it, eventually becomes instantly."

Steve could not accept that. "We have to do something."

She sighed, eyes on the Soldier's sleeping frame. "Tony says he'd considered the matter carefully, and he wasn't trying to kill the man but destroy the thing that had killed his parents — the arm. This should be a contained explosion and it might not actually kill the Soldier."

"Do you believe him?" It sounded unlikely. If the explosion was meant to destroy the arm and ground zero was the Soldier's shoulder, it would also destroy the supporting mechanisms, which meant it would take a good chunk of the Soldier's side. Including his heart.

Natasha's expression told him she had the same doubt.

The Soldier groaned. He was waking up. "I say we take it out, take our chances," Steve said.

"Steve. The explosion will be contained because the device is encased in metal. If we open up his shoulder, it will explode in our faces." She took another audible breath. "We need equipment. And an expert."

"Do you have one? Can you reach Banner?"

"You know, the goddamn lullaby isn't a homing beacon."

"I was thinking more in line of a phone number. Or a location."

"Don't have either. But I can try." The Soldier groaned again. His forehead was sweaty. "I will try," she added firmly.

"I can go." Steve didn't want to stay with the Soldier and do nothing but watch him suffer.

"No. You need to take him back to the city, keep him sedated and isolated. That thing could damage the jet or could possibly harm the person standing next to him. We can't be sure. But I need you to be accessible if I find someone. Tony will leave you alone. He did what he meant to do, so that's done. And Banner isn't the only possibility on my mind. I'll do my best. I promise."

Steve should have been the one reassuring her, not the other way around. And she should have been the one getting choked up, not him. This was her Soldier, not his.

Natasha gave the Soldier another shot and ran her fingers through his hair, murmuring something in Russian. The Soldier didn't react.

When they sat behind the console and put their seatbelts on, she gave him another hard look. "You have to isolate him, Steve. Check up on him, give him a shot, but stay away."

"I'm aware of that. You don't have to—"

She fired up the engine.

*

Natasha was right to warn him away. Not that it did any good.

The shots Steve was giving the Soldier were slowly losing their potency as his body built up a tolerance. He'd occasionally lose consciousness, but mostly he was half-aware, breath coming out in short gasps, muffled by the mask Steve wanted to rip away, but he stopped himself because the last thing he wanted to do was disrespect the Soldier's wishes in what could be his last moments.

Steve placed the Soldier on his bed and tried to stay away, but he ended up lying beside him, stroking his hair.

The worst part was that the Soldier didn't mind, didn't seem to find it strange, didn't jerk away. Even worse, occasionally he'd look at him and say, Steve. Every time he did that the sound tugged at Steve's heart, and when the Soldier turned onto his side, his right side, and curled up into Steve, the tugs turned into a clench that wouldn't release.

Steve couldn't help noticing the Soldier wore Steve's shirt beneath the armor. The one Steve had given him months ago when the Soldier had showed up in his room with a pinched bullet. In his head, Steve went through everything Natasha had said to him about the Soldier lately and concluded that the Soldier's feelings for him might be romantic. Maybe it was just a psychological response, some sort of dependency, a mix of emotions the Soldier himself didn't know how to deal with.

Steve had no idea what to do with that information. It hardly mattered now. But he thought maybe the Soldier would find it easier to die in Steve's arms. Less terrifying.

A few times the Soldier said he was sorry, and Steve wasn't sure for what exactly, but he said, "I know. It's okay."

Twice the Soldier wanted the mask off but then changed his mind when Steve tried to remove it.

And once the Soldier looked at him, nearly lucid, and said, "It's not your fault, Steve. None of it. You gotta know that."

At that moment he really could have been Bucky. His voice, his eyes, what he might say if he could talk to Steve again. And Steve thanked him and cried, for the first time in this century.

*

Natasha found him dozing off, arms wrapped tight around the Soldier's back, the Soldier's head tucked beneath Steve's chin.

Steve couldn't even muster up the energy to feel guilty.

Natasha's lips twitched. "I found someone. If you're not too busy waiting to explode."

Steve was wide awake at once. As gently as he could, he extracted himself from the Soldier's embrace — he didn't want to wake him, sleep was too precious.

Natasha took his hand and led him to the living room where the last person Steve expected to see was waiting.

"Is this a joke?" Steve looked at Natasha, uncomprehending.

"Changed my mind, Cap. That's all," Tony said, voice light as a breeze. He looked terrible. Bloodshot eyes, face drawn, beard gone wild.

"Why? Why would I believe that?"

Tony shrugged. "Believe it. Don't believe it. I'm the only one that can help."

Steve had seen Tony fake indifference too many times to count, but he'd never been this bad at it.

"Nat," Steve said.

"I believe him." She meant it, but Steve didn't understand.

"I need a reason, Tony," Steve said. "Just give me a damn reason I can believe."

Tony stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I literally changed my mind. Made a mistake. Am trying to undo it. C'mon. Is me deciding not to be a killer that incomprehensible?"

It was. Because Tony had months to think about this. He made some cool-headed decisions. Designed a way to do it painfully and horribly. Had the presence of mind to save a bunch of people before executing his plan. He gloated about it to Natasha. Something changed. Something happened.

"Steve." Natasha touched his arm. "I have no one else and we've run out of time. He can't make it worse."

*

They'd transferred the Soldier to Tony's workshop without much trouble. The Soldier was half-aware of where and when he was, but seeing Steve always seemed to calm him down. Steve tried to explain they'd help him, but the words didn't seem to penetrate.

He woke up fully on the makeshift bed in the workshop because Tony wouldn't let them give the Soldier another shot an hour after the last one.

"You'll give him a fucking heart attack, Cap," Tony said. "We're trying to save him here."

If not for Natasha and her ability to sound calm and rational, Steve would have accused Tony of only trying to prolong the Soldier's suffering.

The Soldier's reaction didn't help. Until now he reacted to nothing but pain and Steve, but when he saw Tony he quite obviously panicked.

"It's all right. I'm the good guy now," Tony said. "It's very uplifting. Great character journey. I'm gonna give myself a medal."

That didn't help, but Steve taking the Soldier's hand and saying, "It's okay. He'll help. I promise," did. Though, Steve felt like he was lying. Maybe he was.

Something was terribly wrong with Tony.

Maybe it really was guilt. His conscience kicking him in the ass. There was kindness in Tony's heart, Steve had seen it. A wealth of it. But Tony changed his mind too quickly and too completely.

The Soldier's gaze traveled from Steve to Tony, and very quietly, he said, "I'm sorry."

Tony nodded. "Yeah, cool."

The Soldier stared at him, then visibly tried to steel himself. He looked blankly at the ceiling, jaw clenched, body tight, but his eyes kept flickering at all the machines and gadgets Tony was arranging around him. His chest rose and fell rapidly. His grip on Steve's hand was so forceful that if Steve weren't a super soldier the bones in his fingers would be ground to dust. Steve thought that for the first time in the last ten hours, the Soldier might have forgotten his pain due to sheer terror.

Tony walked off to the other side of the workshop and came back with a giant needle.

The Soldier's eyes widened.

"Tony, come on," Natasha sighed.

"You said no more drugs," Steve argued.

"Yeah, because I thought his heart would give out, but I got him hooked up to a monitor and he's fine." He frowned at the Soldier. "You can't be awake for this."

The Soldier looked at Steve, but before Steve could think of what to say, Tony said, "Hey," waving with the needle. "Gotta be done. Look…" He lowered the needle, set it down; he must have realized it looked threatening. "You'll fall asleep, I take this thing in your shoulder out, and you wake up, right as rain. Well, I mean, they put your mind in a blender, I can't help with that, but I can help with… with what I did."

That was almost heartfelt, for Tony; it got Steve convinced he was being genuine. For whatever reason. The Soldier's body was still pulled taut, his gaze on nothing; he was barely blinking.

"Hey," Tony said again, and brought his hand to the Soldier's forehead, moving fingers up to his hair in the most awkward pat Steve had ever witnessed.

The Soldier froze up even more, but he looked at Tony.

"I forgive you," Tony said thickly and the awkward petting turned gentler, surer. "And I'm sorry. You're in good hands. Well, you are now. You'll be okay. Promise."

The display almost made Steve look away. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to witness Tony showing real emotion. He had no idea Tony was actually capable of showing it. For anyone. Except for presumably Pepper. Certainly not for a man who killed his parents. No matter the circumstances, Steve recognized the horror of what the Soldier had taken from Tony and in such a terrible way. He'd never ask Tony for this. Not killing the Soldier would have been a gift worthy of respect.

Steve glanced at Natasha, who was frowning, looking suspicious for the first time since she brought Tony to the apartment.

The Soldier's grip on Steve's hand eased. He was staring at Tony, his breathing slowing down. "Okay," he said, and Tony nodded, with the strangest expression on his face, looking as though he was about to be sick. He administered the sedative, waited a bit, petted the Soldier's hair again, baffling Steve as well as the Soldier who couldn't stop staring at Tony.

Where was that guilt coming from? That compassion?

"Should work in a bit," Tony said, maybe trying to break the awkward silence. "Gonna be okay. No one here will hurt you. Again."

Steve heard Tony swallow.

The Soldier's eyelashes started dropping, and he gave Steve a panicked sort of glance. "It's okay," Steve said, forcing a smile, and the Soldier's eyes closed.

Looking relieved, Tony got to work.

*

The procedure took hours.

Tony got out the corrupt EMP device with relative ease, with tools and methods Steve couldn't hope to understand.

But Tony didn't stop there. He opened up the whole arm and made incisions in the Soldier's side to reach the supporting construction. He answered every one of Steve's and Natasha's demands of "What are you doing?" with "Helping."

With wordless agreement, neither Steve nor Natasha tried to stop him. Not even when Tony took out parts and chucked them to the floor.

But when Tony took out the blowtorch, Steve had had enough.

"Tony!" he yelled over the sound. "What are you doing?"

Tony blinked and turned off the blowtorch. He pushed up the visor, his eyebrow raised at the shield, which Steve had picked up unknowingly.

Steve lowered the shield but didn't put it down.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm fixing him." Tony glanced at Natasha as though in appeal.

"You could explain how," she said.

"To you two? I don't think so." He relented when Steve raised the shield again. "All right, all right. Jesus. This technology is ancient. I mean, parts of it are brilliant, but you can tell they weren't trying to help him when they made this arm. It's too heavy. All I'm doing — well, not all, but I won't be explaining it in depth, I don't have that kind of patience. Or time. Point is, I'm replacing the replaceable components with lighter materials. It should take the strain off. The way it's set up now it's gotta be killing him when he overexerts himself. Or during damp weather."

"Shouldn't a doctor be doing this?" Steve asked.

"Or help you at least," Natasha added.

"Yeah." Tony snorted, pulled down his visor and turned on the blowtorch. "They don't teach this in medical school," he shouted over the noise.

*

Natasha went for a walk. Got drinks, got food, browsed her phone. Steve stood and watched.

Until he simply couldn't anymore, because the sight of it made him increasingly ill. The Soldier looked disassembled. Like a porcelain doll dropped from a window to the asphalt below. His sweaty hair had dried up and started curling slightly around his ears. If he were awake that might itch his earlobes.

Steve moved to the other side of the workshop to a couch buried under rubble. It took three swipes to clean it and sit.

He didn't fall asleep, but he did tune out. It seemed hours later when Natasha gently shook his shoulder.

"Here." She pushed something into his hand. "Soup in a cup. It's good, I swear."

"I'm not hungry," Steve said. And the soup didn't look good.

"It's over."

That got more of Steve's attention. "Is he… Is he awake?"

"No. And won't be for a while." She gave him a small smile, as though in encouragement. "I have to go. Get Banner. Tony contacted him."

"Does that mean something's wrong?"

"No, no. I mean, Tony just wants to make sure. Have Banner take a look, give a second opinion."

Natasha wouldn't lie to him, Steve thought.

She bent down for a quick hug. "Eat your soup."

Steve watched her leave and then looked around for Tony. He was behind one of his computers, typing away. Thinking it over for a moment, Steve got up and walked closer. He went around, avoiding the makeshift surgical table where the Soldier was sleeping. He could still see him, though, in his peripheral vision. His arm was reassembled, there was a large bandage all down his left side, and his bare chest rose and fell steadily.

Steve could breathe again, too, now.

Eyes on Tony, Steve dropped into one of the chairs close by, but not too close. He wasn't sure if that would be welcomed.

Steve didn't know much about what Tony did on a computer, but right now it seemed like Tony didn't know either. He typed, slowly, sedately, and Steve noticed he'd occasionally delete lines of pure nonsense.

Tony refused to acknowledge him so Steve drank his soup. Except he'd forgotten it was soup and not tea, and suffered a mild shock, but it really wasn't that bad.

He spoke only after he finished it. "How do you go from wanting to torture someone to death to doing your best to take away any discomfort he might have?"

A muscle in Tony's jaw twitched. "I wasn't gonna torture him to death." It twitched again. "Well, I… I guess I was. Huh. A real low point, huh, Cap?"

"I don't know if I have the right to judge you for that. If I saw someone killing my mom…" Steve shook his head. He honestly didn't know what he would do.

"Nah. You go ahead and judge. You like that. You're good at it. I'm judging myself, but it's no fun without burning righteousness."

Steve had no intention of rising to the bait. Tony was beyond upset and he wanted to fight. Steve wanted answers. "Something happened. Between the factory and you showing up at the apartment. What was it?"

Tony huffed a laugh. "Nothing happened. Nothing…" He swallowed. He looked so tired Steve expected him to fall out of the chair. Or have a heart attack. "He was a tool. A victim. A slave. I realized that, that's all."

"That's not all."

"It is!" Tony snapped, glared at Steve but then seemed to crumble further. "It's…" He swallowed with a disgusted expression, and Steve again feared Tony would hurl. He looked like he was fighting against the bile that wanted to rise. "I salvaged the data from that DC facility," he said at last. "It wasn't deleted. It was just smashed, and encoded of course. Nothing exciting. Project Insight stuff mostly. Nothing about the Soldier. They kept him in DC, kept everything about him in New York. I did realize something, though. I mean, the Soldier found the New York base through the records in the DC base. I reconstructed what he did. He was looking for those files, the ones that were about him; he didn't touch anything else. And let me tell you, it wasn't easy. I thought he was a Hulk-smash type of assassin, but he knows how to manipulate data, how to code, where to search. Made me think it's odd he did such a pisspoor job of deleting the files in the New York base when he went through so much trouble to get them. You see, it's not easy to delete things someone is trying to protect. He knew that. And he didn't have much time. Really, what he did was good enough to fool me, but seriously subpar performance for someone who cracked the HYDRA code and found the backups of one of their biggest secrets.

"It nagged at me. I kept digging. Kept trying to find what I've missed, if anything. And I was right. Because I always am. He never wanted to delete those files. That was a red herring. He wanted to delete a file. Just one. Except he couldn't. So he buried it so deep I missed it. But I got it. It was decrypting when I flew to the factory. Found it waiting for me when I got back." Tony looked away, stared at the screen. "It was another recording. The stuff we read about: taking him out of cryo, deleting his memories. Torture, basically." He snorted. "Right then? I didn't mind seeing it. That's another low point for me. Scream, fucker. Like my mom couldn't." He fell silent, maybe waiting for Steve to say something, judge him, but Steve's throat was too tight to speak. "It went on and on…" Tony said, voice quiet now. "I got bored." He laughed, a little hysterical. "Fast-forwarded. Blah, blah, yeah, whatever. I figured, there's gotta be something there. Why be so desperate to hide it? It's all in the files anyway, described or seen what's the dif—" His voice broke and cleared his throat. "You know what my curse is? I can't look away. Morbid curiosity? Thirst for knowledge? Just rotten deep down? I don't know. A shrink could tell you. Except I'm not as cruel as to unload all that on someone, so really no shrink could tell you. Or maybe I am that cruel..."

Tony fell silent and stayed like that for too long. Steve managed to make his throat work. "What did you see?" Did he even want to know?

Tony shook his head, and kept shaking it slowly. "They're, ah… There were a bunch of guys there. Labrats and muscled goons. And they found it hilarious they had the Winter Soldier in their grasp, a terrifying assassin, a living legend, the fist of HYDRA… and he did whatever they told him to do, all blank stare and ready compliance. You know, stand on one foot, hit yourself in the face, get on your knees…"

The soup in Steve's stomach wanted to go back up.

"I looked away eventually, but not fast enough." Tony threw his head back, maybe in an attempt to keep any tears from escaping his eyes. "What they did to him, Steve… What they made him do. Humiliated him in ways…. It kept escalating and he'd just… They'd tell him to stop screaming and he would. He didn't even get that outlet."

Had Tony ever called him Steve before? Steve wondered, because he didn't want to wonder about anything else.

"It hurts to look at him, to be honest. Isn't that sad?" He laughed again. "Hurts to have eyes. And a brain. And a stomach."

God, did the Soldier remember it? Was he looking for that recording specifically? He wasn't even allowed to destroy it properly, but had it dragged out to the light by Tony.

"I thought I recognized some of S.H.I.E.L.D.s strike team," Tony added.

Steve had had drinks with them sometimes.

They were HYDRA and had already tried to kill him; Steve didn't think it was possible to feel the betrayal anew. He should have seen it somehow, in their eyes, in their words, the kind of men they were.

Tony stared at the ceiling, his gaze as blank as the Soldier's.

"You should rest," Steve said. "Sleep. If you don't, you'll collapse."

"Oh, yeah. Sleep. That thing with the dreams, right? Should be fun. What with a horrorshow in my head and the heart-wrenching guilt."

Steve couldn't help him with that. "Did you destroy the recording? You should."

Tony looked at him sharply. "It's evidence. What if it's needed? What if it comes to that? American soldier or not, he's killed a lot of people. Important people. Civilians. Wreaked havoc in DC."

"Natasha told you? About him being an American soldier?" Steve wasn't sure if she got the chance. Tony hesitated for a second too long and Steve realized… "You saw his face. In the recordings. Did you find him? Do you know who he is? "

Tony stared at the screen. "Yeah, I know who he is." He lifted his hand when Steve opened his mouth. "I won't tell you. He's been clinging to that mask, so it's important to him. I can try to convince him, though. Point is, he has a good chance. I knew that when I saw the tape of him killing my parents. He had exemplary service. Celebrated as a hero. There will be people who can testify to his character. It's looking good if we want to bring him in. But I can't make guarantees. The recording is evidence of mind-blowing torture. Literally mind-blowing."

But the Soldier didn't want it seen. "Destroy it," Steve said.

Tony blew out a breath. "Fine. I— fine. There are written records of the… the first part. Maybe it'll be enough." He frowned at Steve. "Yeah, it will."

Who was that man? To make Tony think all these murders would be forgiven? Maybe Steve could Google him. Find a hero soldier who went MIA, find some resemblance. Though Tony might be right. It would be more respectful to let the Soldier reveal himself when he was ready.

"He's awake," Tony said, a slight quiver to his voice.

Steve was out of the chair and by the Soldier's side in seconds.

"Hey," Steve said as the Soldier's eyelashes fluttered. He waited for his blue eyes to focus. "How are you feeling?"

It took time for the Soldier to look around, look down at his body, his arm.

Steve pretended not to notice Tony getting up and wiping his face in his sleeve.

"Are you in any pain?" Steve asked, unable to wait any longer for some sort of feedback.

The Soldier looked down at his arm again and clenched his metal fingers.

"Right as rain, am I right?" Tony showed up beside them, his voice almost steady. "Right?"

"I can't…" The Soldier clenched his fingers again. "Feel."

"Oh." Panic spread through Tony's expression. "Feel? I mean, there was no indication… You'd feel a kind pressure, or… But feeling, you didn't have feeling in this arm, that's— Whoa, no getting up. You have an incision in your side."

But the Soldier had already sat up. Steve was too hesitant to put his hands on him and physically stop him.

Frowning, the Soldier kept clenching his fingers. He lifted his arm, bent it at the joint. It whirred quietly.

"There's a doctor coming," Tony said. "He'll see if I hit a nerve I shouldn't have or—"

The Soldier clenched his fingers into a tight fist. "There's no pain. Because of the sedative?"

"Well, no, it should have— Oh. Oh, by feeling you meant… You meant pain. No, that's, that was the idea. I tinkered with it a bit." He waved carelessly around. Steve wished he hadn't. The Soldier's eyes widened; it must have been a shock seeing parts of him scattered all over the damn floor.

"It's fine. It is." Tony probably intended for his smile to look comforting, but it looked like a pained grimace. "Hey, I'm Iron Man. I know a thing or two about metallic limbs. I just made it lighter, just to relieve your body of some of the stress. See, these scars all around won't heal because they keep getting jostled. That shouldn't happen. Your arm might not be quite as strong now, but it will be faster, easier to move. Maybe, maybe it will take time to get used to it, but I didn't… I mean, I wasn't trying to, you know, make you weaker or something. Although, I should have asked. But you were in pain and it was sort of a medical emergency. No, you're right…" The Soldier didn't say anything. "I should have asked. I can put it all back. I think. But—"

"It's fine," the Soldier said, mercifully cutting off Tony. He was fully awake now, alert enough to realize Tony was behaving oddly. Steve could see the suspicion in his gaze. "Can I go?"

Steve didn't expect that question. He should have. "There's a doctor coming over to see you, like Tony said. A friend of ours. Natasha went to get him."

"Which friend?"

Steve wondered if the Soldier had files on all of them. He probably did. Especially if he was as good with computers like Tony claimed. "Bruce Banner. Better known as the Hulk."

The Soldier's answer was a prolonged stare.

"He won't be the Hulk during the examination," Tony said needlessly. There was an air about him, of an uncle dealing with a small child. Steve had the feeling the Soldier was picking up on it and it was putting him on edge. Of course it did. Tony tried to murder him horrendously and now he was bending over backward to help.

"All right, then. If you think it's necessary," the Soldier said at last.

He looked back at his hand, clenched his fingers, and then kept on doing that.

*

The Soldier might have been in shock. He was very still, sitting and waiting, though they told him it could be hours, and he should lie down and rest.

His bandage bled through and Tony replaced it after the Soldier agreed to it with a slow nod. Steve could better understand Tony's expression now: the sadness, the guilt, the horror. And the gentleness and care he put in while changing the Soldier's bandage. Steve had offered to do it, but Tony curtly declined with "I got it."

How horrible was that recording if it made Tony's hand shake and his expression crumble as he watched the Soldier clench his fist again, asking, "It's not coming back? The pain? It'll stay like this?"

"Yup." Tony nodded. "No one will hurt you again, I said it, didn't I? Includes the arm." Tony had said, 'no one here will hurt you,' but this was what he had meant. This was an Iron Man promise.

The Soldier's gaze snapped up at him; he'd picked up on it, too. Tony gave him a jerky nod and left.

Steve wished he could start some sort of conversation, but he couldn't stop imagining what Tony might have seen. It made it hard to speak. The Soldier said nothing, asked for nothing, didn't even ask to use the restroom, but when Steve remembered to ask if he needed to, he jumped to his feet.

Otherwise, he'd sit and stare. The only sign he was not in some sort of stasis was the fact that he'd occasionally examine his arm, clench his fingers, or make sudden jerky movements with it.

Steve found it heartbreaking. He must have been in constant pain before and was now waiting for it to start up again.

No feeling, he said. Pain was the only feeling he had in that arm. Pain was the only feeling he was allowed to have in general.

Tony brought back a platter of food for them and then left again, presumably to rest. Or to hide.

Steve took a plate and went back to the faraway couch. It took some time but eventually, the Soldier turned his back to him, took off his mask, and ate.

There were glass panes to the Soldier's left and Steve could almost see his face in the reflection. If he squinted a bit, let his mind wander, he could see Bucky in the glass.

After that, Steve looked away.

It took hours for Natasha and Banner to show up. Tony slept, Steve slept, the Soldier sat. He didn't seem half as tired as Tony looked and Steve felt, though.

Natasha gave Steve a questioning look and he only said, "Later." She nodded and stood aside, eyes on the Soldier.

Banner's general nervousness increased every time the Soldier failed to react or respond, which was often, and Steve had a feeling they both expected the Hulk to rear its green head.

It was probable that Banner only had basic info: a request to help a dangerous assassin who killed Tony's parents and was then nearly killed by Tony. His confusion was expected.

"I think you did a good job, Tony," Banner declared, going through the scans. "No nerve damage. Well, no new nerve damage. The damage from the EMP device already healed. This incision is closing, too. That's actually impressive."

"The serum they gave me makes healing even faster than the one Ste— the Captain got," the Soldier said, one of the rare times he offered information. "But I'm not as strong. They didn't like that."

Banner had jumped a little when the Soldier spoke and stepped on a discarded piece of the Soldier's arm with a hurried, "Sorry."

The Soldier stared at him. "They'd prefer to have whatever you got."

"Ah. Yeah." Banner gave a hollow laugh. "No, they wouldn't. No control there. They'd prefer what Steve got."

"No control there, either," the Soldier said.

Tony and Banner frowned and Natasha snorted.

Was it a joke? The Soldier had already explained what HYDRA wanted from the serum and controlling the subjects being a constant issue, but this comment didn't sound like he was trying to explain anything. It just sounded fond. It was impossible to know but it seemed like the Soldier had said it with a smile.

"Right, well, Tony, I'm so glad you called me here to tell you how brilliant you are. That was the reason, right?"

"Yeah, you got me. Thanks, doc." Tony's cheerfulness looked painfully false.

"Yeah, yeah. I was promised compensation?"

"You were?" Tony asked. "Of course you were." He looked at Natasha. "What did we promise?"

"I got it," she said, waving him off.

"What compensation? What compensation?" Tony insisted and Natasha smirked. "Oh my," Tony concluded.

Banner looked pained. "Stop. Stop making it sound like that, both of you. I just want to get a drink. It's been a while."

Steve tensed, surprised. "Is that safe?"

"Probably not. It's why I asked Natasha to get Thor. To stop me. Just in case."

"How do you get Thor?" Tony asked. Steve wondered, too.

"I got it, fellas." Natasha grinned. "We'll meet outside the city."

Banner nodded at them and Natasha gave Steve a look, a kind of plea, that might have meant, Look after him. Steve didn't need to be told.

"Can I go now?" the Soldier asked the second Natasha and Banner left.

"Not quite," Tony said before Steve could answer. "I'd like a quick word." He looked at Steve. "In private."

Steve didn't like that. He was no longer worried Tony would try to harm the Soldier, but he could only hope Tony wouldn't do something stupid like mention the recording. Surely, he wouldn't. This must have been about the Soldier's identity. That was a conversation Tony should have with the Soldier. Convince him to come in, surrender, let them help.

The Soldier's gaze followed him as Steve walked out.

The walls were made of glass and Steve didn't go far. He couldn't hear them, but he could see them clearly. Tony spoke a lot, his expression serious; he might not have told a single joke. If the Soldier made any reply, Steve couldn't see it.

Mere minutes later, Tony called him back with a wave of his hand.

"Agreement reached," Tony announced. "You're staying here. Both of you."

"We are?" Steve glanced at the Soldier, who said nothing.

"Of course. Best thing to do while we figure out how to go about this. Who to contact, what to say. It's the safest place you could be. There's plenty of room. J.A.R.V.I.S. will show you."

"How to go about what?"

"Surrender, and subsequent pardon, preferably restoration of titles and honors."

Just like that.

Steve looked at the Soldier again. "You agreed to this?"

"Yes." The Soldier didn't sound happy.

But this was a good thing. However Tony got him to agree, maybe it wouldn't matter in the end.

"All right then," Steve said, and the Soldier clenched his fist.

*

"Agent Romanoff is here to see you, Captain," J.A.R.V.I.S. announced.

"She's not really an agent anymore," Steve said, going through the clothes Tony had sent up. Tony was trying to be funny, sending them small shirts with ridiculous prints. Most of them were Iron Man themed. Steve picked up the stupidest one, where Iron Man was posing turned away, but looking over his shoulder, like a metal pinup girl showing off her backside. It nearly ripped when Steve put it on. At least the sweatpants were comfortable.

He found Natasha in the hallway, holding up a bag.

"Ah, I'm too late," she said when she saw him. "He took pictures of you wearing that, you know he did."

"My stuff?" Steve asked, taking the bag. "Jesus, you're a savior."

"Yeah, that's the idea." She sighed. She looked tired. "How is he?"

"Asleep."

The Soldier slept for hours now. Twelve hours, not that Steve was counting. J.A.R.V.I.S. was.

He had barely spoken a word and just let himself be led up to the apartment. Steve wanted him to pick his room from the two they had, but the Soldier just shrugged, and Steve picked for him.

The only thing the Soldier said was, "Where will you go?" and when Steve told him he'd be in the room next door, sleeping, he crawled up onto the bed, boots and all, and fell asleep. He must have been exhausted.

Steve got up hours ago, checked up on him a few times, ordered food, checked up on him again, brought him some fresh clothes, and left them on the bed. If the Soldier woke up at any point, he didn't show it.

"He's not opposed to talking usually," Steve said. "He talked normally back at that diner when he gave me the list."

"Shock, probably." Natasha eyed the door, worrying her lip.

"Do you want to go in and—?"

"I want to know what the hell got into Tony. Did he tell you?"

Steve hesitated. This wasn't information the Soldier or Tony would want spread around. But this was Natasha. She had more right to know than Steve.

"Well?" Natasha prompted.

"He found another recording. One that the Soldier was actually trying to hide, apparently. It was a… some sort of torture session."

Natasha blinked. "How did seeing the Soldier torture someone make Tony change his mind?"

"No, god, sorry. They were torturing him. HYDRA. Some of the S.H.I.E.L.D. strike team included."

Natasha's expression changed. "You mean… they beat him? That got to Tony?"

"Tony didn't really describe what he saw. But the Soldier tried hard to hide it. So. I think they got more creative than a mere beating. He did everything they told him to do, and that's…"

"A drug to monsters," she finished quietly and clenched her fists, gaze on the wall as though she was thinking of breaking it. "Our teammates, Steve. Partners. Backup."

"Look, this is all kinds of horrible, but we can't change what happened. At least Tony is on our side now. He'll help. He convinced the Soldier to stay, to surrender. We can get him help. This is actually possible now. Tony's convinced. He knows the Soldier's identity and he said—"

"He knows? How?"

"Well, he'd seen his face in the recordings."

"I've seen his face, too. Up close. But he's old. He's been active for decades. Facial recognition software won't help him. I've been looking, too."

"It's someone decorated apparently. Exemplary service. A hero. That would help, wouldn't it?"

"It would, I guess. If there are articles, some good photos, or he's really famous. Maybe I should know who he is. I— sometimes he feels familiar, like… I did see him somewhere. Else. I don't really pay attention to old heroes. No offense."

"It doesn't matter. Tony knows. We all will soon. If he was really active in the sixties, that's… insane." So many years of loneliness and pain. How was the Soldier even functioning?

"I'm speculating, to be fair." She was getting increasingly upset.

"Do you want to go see him? Talk to him?"

She looked up at him and smiled. "No. It's fine. I think he'd prefer to talk to you."

Steve wanted to deny that, but it did feel like it could be true. He felt like he betrayed Natasha. He was trying to help. Help the Soldier, but help her too. The Soldier was her lover, someone she had a connection with, someone she might have loved once. She should have been at the center of it all.

"Listen," she said, "I'll be gone for a few days—"

"Nat, I'm so sorry," Steve said, panicking now. Was she running away? Because she was hurt? "I pushed myself in the middle of this. That's not what I meant to do."

Her eyes were kind. "He put you in the middle, Steve. If you think you broke up some kind of romantic reunion, please don't. It was never about that. There was no romance, only desperation and horrors. I wasn't planning on making him my boyfriend and skipping down the street holding his hand."

"You're not being honest," he told her.

She was on the verge of rolling her eyes, but there was no flippant comment. "He means more to me than I mean to him. It's expected. And it hurts. I'll get over it. Knowing he's in good hands makes it okay."

There was something in her expression that clenched Steve's chest. "He's not… in my hands. I mean, it's not like that. I don't want you to think it is. I realize he might have feelings for me, feelings he probably doesn't even understand, but it's not like that, for me. I just care. My reasons might be complicated, but they're not romantic."

She opened her mouth, closed it, and smiled. "Okay. That's good. It's not what he needs right now, even if it is what he wants."

"I'm aware of that, too."

She nodded, staring at him in a way that reminded Steve of the Soldier. "He is in your hands, though. So. That's a responsibility. You should consider what to do carefully because he does have feelings for you. And if this is leading up to your rejection, it's better to make him aware of that sooner rather than later."

"Right. Okay," he said, though he didn't really know what to do about that. "Where are you going?" he asked, because this topic was making him uneasy.

"Er, South Africa. With Thor. Possibly Banner."

"Was this some sort of drunken arrangement?"

"Kind of. Thor asked. He's got some alien trouble. Been meaning to get to it and he's here now. Some blah blah prisoner escaped from blah blah world. Not sure. I wasn't really listening. Sounds fun, though."

"Agreed." Though Steve wouldn't leave now for anything. "How do you get Thor, by the way?"

"He told us? You go to a field and loudly state your intentions. There's a guard watching, who sees all, and he gives him the message."

"Which field?"

"Oh, any open space, secluded enough, so no one can see you lookin' stupid waving your arms yelling, Heimdall!"

"That's… I remember him saying that. I thought it was a joke."

"It worked." She sighed and stood on her toes to give him a hug. "I'll see you in a bit," she said softly. "I don't mean to leave you alone in this. I just need a break."

He nodded and hugged her back.

*

Steve ate all the food and ordered more. All he had to do was ask J.A.R.V.I.S. to have it brought up and he'd get it. He could have just ordered something on his phone and paid for it, he could actually afford it in this new life, but he knew Tony would see it as an insult, and Steve would be accused of arrogance for not accepting free food as a house guest.

He didn't want to fight with Tony. Not now. Even though Tony was consumed by guilt and pity, the fact was he changed his mind so quickly and completely, and though Steve certainly understood why, there was always a chance that Tony might change his mind again. It depended on the Soldier. Right now he was exhausted and torn up, likely in shock, but he was still a man capable of taking out a dozen people without a second thought.

Steve had resolved to do his best to help him, but that might not be possible.

He had also resolved to keep a certain distance. Physically. He'd gone back over his conversation with Nat and filtered out a warning she'd been trying to give him, definitely prompted by the moment when she had found the Soldier in Steve's arms back in the apartment. Not about the Soldier's feelings, but Steve's.

What were those feelings, anyway? How did this broken assassin, this man, draw out thoughts and reactions that were so incredibly inappropriate given the situation? There was no reason to it. Maybe there was something wrong with Steve ever since he'd woken up. He thought there might be. He thought there was something wrong with him before. Something that had always stopped him, even with Peggy.

Maybe he was confused, got mixed up, lost in this strange new world. It was the last thing the Soldier needed now. Someone who couldn't keep his own thoughts straight. Someone who got turned about after too many years in ice. Maybe the warmth of his compassion for a man so torn up melted away the last of the frost. It could be a good thing if Steve could only keep his head on straight. Stop the spiral sending him down the path he'd never once thought about going.

It was too senseless, too impossible, too unfair to even contemplate an idea that was maybe only there because this futuristic place pushed the barriers and blurred the lines and Steve was still getting used to it all.

This line of thinking had to be squashed.

The Soldier would have to realize there were limits to what Steve could give and what the Soldier could ask for. The sooner the better. They shouldn't confuse things. Not now…

When the food arrived, Steve arranged a plate and carried it to the Soldier's room. He was still asleep and Steve left the food on a small table near the bed, hoping the scent of it might wake him. The Soldier probably needed sleep, but he needed to eat, too.

Two hours later, Steve's tension reached new heights.

"J.A.R.V.I.S.? Can you tell me if the Soldier is awake?"

"Certainly, Captain. He has been awake for the last hour."

"I see." Well, then.

Steve walked over and knocked on the door. There was no answer and after announcing, "I'm coming in," he did just that.

The Soldier was indeed awake, changed into the clothes Steve had left for him, and sitting on the side of the bed, not facing the door. His shoulders were hunched, neck bent, body perfectly still. It wasn't a comforting sight and the Soldier's lack of reaction wasn't helping.

The food was gone from the plate and the Soldier's hair was damp, so he must have showered. Those were good signs.

"Hey. How are you feeling?" Steve asked gently.

The Soldier didn't reply; Steve's fingers itched for his shield. This could be some sort of breakdown.

"Can you talk to me? I just want to make sure you're all right." Steve took a step closer, ready to fight if needed. The Soldier's stillness was unnerving. "It's okay if you want to be alone, but—" Steve fell silent when he realized the Soldier held his mask in his hands. He wasn't telling Steve to leave. He didn't try to put it back on. He just held it, waiting, thinking?

Steve waited, too, stomach tying up into knots, chest tightening, though he wasn't sure why.

"He gave me an ultimatum," the Soldier said at last, not raising his head.

Too lost in anticipation, Steve didn't understand.

"Stark," the Soldier added. "Twenty-four hours to show you my face. Or he'll do it."

That was honestly a surprise. After all the sympathy Tony had shown, Steve didn't think he would give an ultimatum like that.

"I'm sorry," Steve said. "He shouldn't have done that. I'll talk to him. Tony can be harsh, even when he's trying to help. But he is trying to help. And he does have a point. If we are to help you, and you told Nat you want to come in, then you do need to take off that mask. Let everyone see you, not just me."

The Soldier snorted at that. "Help me," he repeated. "Did you see the parts of my arm littering the floor, getting stepped on? That's how I feel. That's what I am. Disassembled. Getting in the way of people going about their lives. Because I don't belong here. I should have died a long time ago. Maybe I did."

"You're alive," Steve said firmly. "And you don't have to hold yourself together. Not on your own. That's what the help is for."

"Yeah, why do it myself, why not put it on you? It's that simple, isn't it? You did it before. Dragged my sorry ass around and let me have a piece of your fame because what? I was halfway decent to you when no one else was? That don't make me special. I had my twisted reasons, too, I know that now. I was never a good man. It's no wonder the serum pulled me so low. You cried for me, didn't you? You think I picked up that shield to heroically protect you? I was seething with jealousy, seething because you weren't my little Steve anymore, but a big damn hero, with everyone's eyes on him, and I just wanted to show you I'm still worth a damn. Except that wasn't really true, was—"

In two quick strides, Steve was in front of him, on his knees, shaking hands on the Soldier's face, forcing it up…

"No," Steve breathed.
No. It couldn't be. His mind was playing tricks on him. His eyes saw what they wanted. This couldn't be Bucky, with Bucky's eyes, his nose, his lips, his chin. Bucky was dead. Not left alive at the bottom of a ravine. Not tortured for decades. Not torn apart and mangled into a shell that remembered nothing of its kindness, its sweetness, its gentle heart.

"It can't be," Steve said though of course it could and it was. Steve should have realized the moment he'd seen the panic in the Soldier's eyes as he was drowning in the Potomac. The panic he'd seen in Bucky's eyes when he had reached for Steve, and fell.

"Don't look at me like that," the Soldier said with Bucky's voice and Bucky's lips. "I'm not what you think I am."

"Buck…"

"Don't." Bucky caught Steve's hands that couldn't stop tracing every line of his face. "I didn't want you to know. I didn't want you to see what I've become."

Steve freed his hands and surged upwards, still on his knees between Bucky's thighs, and pulled Bucky into an embrace. Bucky tried to push him away with his metal arm, but not even the Hulk could make Steve move right now.

It didn't take long for Bucky to breathe out, sink in, and cry.

"I lied," Bucky said, voice muffled in Steve's shirt. "I lied again. I did want to tell you. That's all I wanted to do."

Steve ran his fingers through Bucky's wet hair. "I know now, Buck. It's okay. It's over. I know now, and you don't have to tear yourself up about it anymore." Now Steve could tear himself up. For saving millions, saving the world, and leaving Bucky to the wolves.

He'd always known he'd fail. He never imagined how much.

*

"I remembered you the longest," Bucky said.

They were on the bed, Bucky lying on his back, talking to the ceiling. Steve was next to him, on his side, watching, unable to look away, drink in his fill of Bucky's face. "I forgot where I was, when I was. I forgot my name. But I still remembered you. They prodded and probed, looking for the right place to burn you out, but you were spread too wide, in all the crannies of my brain. You were the hope. And then you weren't. They got you out, too. Later, I'd remember you sometimes, this feel of you that I hated because it was the only thing that prevented me from killing myself while I still could. That's what I should have done. That's the regret."

Every word was a knife, but Steve could always take a beating. "And now? Do you still feel like that?"

Bucky turned his head to look at him. "I don't know."

Steve's hand found Bucky's face again. He brushed a strand of dark hair from his face, dry now. His skin was warm.

"You can't put me back together, Steve. I don't want you to."

"Is that a lie?"

Bucky looked back at the ceiling. "I don't remember everything, about you and me, the life before, but I remember enough. I don't like what I remember."

"Then you don't remember enough."

"I remember hating what you did to yourself and hating that I got turned into your shadow. I remember what I wanted from you back when you were you. I wanted so much. Wanted you... And I remember knowing I'd never get you after you became Captain America. Is that the friend you want back?"

"Yes," Steve said, not letting himself think. Was Bucky remembering it wrong? Was that how he really felt before?

It didn't matter. Not now. Not Bucky's feelings about him, not Steve's… Jesus. The Soldier was Bucky. What the hell was wrong with Steve? How did he not see? How did he…

No. No thinking.

"You're either a friend who always had my back," Steve said, "who told me off if I was wrong, stood by me no matter what, been there with me through sickness and war, or you're a friend who was all that while hurting because I didn't…." Steve swallowed. Bucky had to know. Steve had to be clear. "Couldn't give you what you wanted."

Bucky blinked and then closed his eyes. "That's not your fault."

"No, it's not. It's not yours either. This is not the price you pay for thoughts. Who you were is what you did and didn't do of your own free will. And that's who you can be again. You get to decide your actions, which means you get to decide who you are."

"I don't trust my decisions."

"Okay. Then you need a compass. And you have one right here. If you trust me to be that for you. For as long as you need."

Bucky looked at him again, with the barest hint of a smile. "That was never in question."

"Then it's done, Buck. You're home."

*

Later, while Bucky slept, Steve went to his room and cursed Tony, because Tony knew, all along. Ever since he'd seen the recording of Bucky murdering Howard and Maria Stark. Since he'd started calling the Soldier your boyfriend.

He was gonna kill him with Steve never knowing. Let him die in Steve's arms so Steve could take off the mask and see what he had lost.

Steve punched a hole in Tony's perfect, sturdy wall.

He cursed out Natasha, too, for never picking up a biography or a file, for never setting foot in the Smithsonian and paying attention.

He tore up the bag she brought him, with most of his things.

Then he sat on the floor and cried.

Chapter Text

"Yeah, man, we're okay," Sam said, sounding a little out of breath. "Sarah's making me work my ass off, that's the only trouble I've faced."

"That's good, Sam." Steve held the phone too tight. He heard it starting to crack and forced himself to ease his grip. He was in the kitchen, whispering.

"Hmm. Are you sure you're okay?" Sam asked again. "You sound maudlin. More than you normally do."

"Yeah. It's just…" Steve didn't want to tell him. He also really did. He didn't want Sam to come back here and deal with all of this when he was happy with his family. He also really did. He couldn't stop himself. "Sam, the Soldier, we know who he is. He's… I know him. He's my friend."

There was silence on the other end. "He's… I don't get it. What do you mean your friend? Like… I mean. He's been active for so long… Wait, you mean a friend from before? What?"

"It's Bucky. Bucky Barnes."

"Bucky… You mean Sergeant James Barnes? Best friend from childhood? The one who… What? Steve. That's not possible. What's going on? Are you having a breakdown? Jesus, you are, aren't you?"

"It's him. Tony knew it." Steve closed his eyes. "He didn't die. He was experimented on. He survived the fall. I didn't know. I… I just left him."

More silence followed. "Do you need…?" Steve heard Sam swallow. "I'll be on the next flight."

You don't have to, Steve wanted to say. What he said was, "Okay."

*

"Hey, want some breakfast?" Steve asked with a smile.

Bucky had appeared from his room, hair a mess, his Iron man T-shirt and dark blue sweatpants rumpled from sleep, his face too thin, eyes too hollow. Steve couldn't stop looking at him. He was a vision, the impossible, Steve's joy manifested in beloved detail.

Nodding, Bucky moved to the table and sat down. "Are all the Iron Man shirts some kind of joke I don't get?"

"They're complementary. Maybe a joke, too, yeah. I have…" Mostly torn up clothes, Steve remembered. "We'll get some new clothes."

"It's fine." Bucky started eating, movements mechanical. He paused after a while. "You're just gonna stand there and watch me?"

From now until ever, probably. "Sorry," Steve said and sat down.

"Much better, thanks," Bucky said, minutes later.

Steve looked away and tucked in. His food was cold. He could barely taste it anyway.

Bucky cleaned out his plate and leaned back. "You can ask whatever it is you want to ask."

That could take a lifetime. "When did you remember?"

"You mean you? It wasn't some big epiphany. It came back to me slowly. Jumbled. I read up about you, though. Found my picture."

"That night when you got shot? You knew?"

"I knew. But didn't really remember all of it. It took months. I remembered a lot of it by the time I found you at that diner."

"And now?"

"I remember most of it. I think. Not much, before Kreischberg. It's clear enough after. And after I fell, after more experiments, that's… clearest."

Then Bucky remembered the Soldier more than himself. Maybe that was why he was staring at Steve so intently. To see his reaction.

But his honesty meant a lot to Steve. At least Bucky was able to recognize he didn't have all the facts, which wasn't what he had claimed yesterday when he tried to twist the person he had been into someone bitter and jealous and angry. That wasn't Bucky, that was never Bucky, no matter what sort of thoughts and desires and feelings he had. God, why hadn't Bucky told him? Although, what would Steve have done?

No, he couldn't think about that. There was no time, no room in his mind to deal with that now.

Bucky had bared himself to his very bones, pulled up his deepest doubts and regrets to the surface, laid them out for Steve to see because he didn't know that was what he was doing. He got lost in the dirt with roots and worms and couldn't see the green tree above.

Steve should not have seen something so private.

"Then maybe I can fill any blanks you might have," Steve said.

"Won't make me who I was, if that's what you're after," Bucky said flatly.

"Can't make myself who I was either, Buck. The world has changed and took me with it. But I need you, that has never changed."

"It's the other way around, Steve. It always was."

Steve couldn't hold back a smile. "So you admit you need me?"

Bucky's eyes narrowed. "Still a punk, I see."

Steve grinned. Bucky didn't smile back, but his expression softened.

"We have a plan, Buck. Natasha and I. And now that Tony wants to help—"

"Yeah, he told me. Gave me an outline. Surrender, cooperate, get a pardon." Bucky's gaze was fixed on Steve's eyes. "Why did he change his mind? I get revenge. I know what I did to his parents. I know he'd seen it. That's a messed-up thing to see. And now…" Bucky bared his teeth. "He's petting my hair. What's that about?"

Steve knew better than to point out Bucky didn't seem to mind it that much at the time. It had calmed him down.

Bucky could not know the truth, not ever. He wanted that recording hidden.

"Guilt. Tony is a good guy," Steve said, though he still wanted to punch his fist through him. "Once he realized what he'd done and pulled himself out of that rage, he remembered he's a good guy. He's overcompensating, yeah. That's his thing."

Bucky still stared at him, waiting for more, waiting for the truth. Steve could do little but deflect and derail.

"With his help, things will go smoother," Steve continued. "You will be questioned. You'll have to tell your story more than once. There'll be those who'll call you a murderer and demand for the death penalty and those who will celebrate you as a hero, a prisoner of war, a victim."

The vein in Bucky's temple twitched at the word victim. "And I suppose the latter is the narrative you want to push."

"It's not a narrative. It's fact."

"Everything you just listed is fact. It's not an either-or type of situation. The question is am I still dangerous? And if I can't honestly answer that, that's answer enough."

"No, not how it works. That's why there are trained professionals who will determine your mental state."

"Okay… And if they tell you something you don't like?"

"Then I'll know you're not ready for the outside world and we have work to do."

"Ready for the outside world?" Bucky repeated. "Are you saying I'm your prisoner?"

"Yes."

Bucky's eyes widened.

"Don't do that. Don't act surprised," Steve said, annoyed. "You can't tell me you don't know if you're still dangerous and then expect me to just send you on your way. If you know me at all, you'd know that."

Steve realized Bucky's metal fingers had clenched. He'd hit a nerve, he knew that. Probably triggered a trauma response and that was horrible. But Bucky needed to understand he had to stay here, with him. He just had to. Even if that made him unhappy and unsure, the dangers he'd face by going away on his own were too great. Steve couldn't let him go. Couldn't afford to, not as a friend and not as an Avenger.

"This prison is basically a five-star hotel with more than one person who wants to keep you safe. You said you don't trust your decisions. You said you trust me.'

Bucky unclenched his fingers. "I do. But you're ignoring everything I told you. I'm not the priority right now. HYDRA is. They have the serum. They have used it by now. There are powerful people out there who are now super soldiers. You want to play advocate and showman, and in the meantime, they're growing more powerful every day. We have to stop them. You and I. Because I trust no one else with that serum." His lips thinned. "I'm not crazy. I see you thinking it. Well, actually, maybe I am. But I'm right about this. You gotta believe me. You want to lock me up here with you forever? Fine. I don't mind. It's a better fate than I could have ever imagined. But after we cut off the HYDRA heads for good."

There was real emotion in Bucky's eyes now. This theory had got him fired up when he first mentioned it and now again. That was why he reacted the way he had when Steve told him he couldn't leave. He was on a mission and wasn't about to give it up.

It wasn't that Steve didn't believe him. HYDRA was still out there, they'd always wanted the serum, they'd tricked Steve once already, made him think they were gone. It didn't matter if things were progressing exactly how Bucky had imagined or in some other way. HYDRA was a continued threat they needed to eliminate.

But there were too many things wrong with what Bucky was saying, beginning with his heartbreaking statement that he'd be happy to be Steve's prisoner forever.

"I'll remind you, again," Steve said, "you said you don't trust your decisions. If you have information on HYDRA, you need to tell me everything. And if there are multiple HYDRA super soldiers, we can't take them alone. We need the whole team. We need the Avengers. We can trust them with the serum, by which I mean we can trust them to destroy it. Is that a concern? You think they'd use it?"

"Yeah, cause why would I think that? A group of people who tried really hard to make themselves superior. Banner turned himself into a monster; Stark turned himself into a living weapon. Barton and Wilson are ridiculously vulnerable, part of a team that includes guys like Thor. If they had the serum, they could be equals. And don't even get me started on Natalia."

All of this was wrong, but the last part threw Steve in for a loop. "Nat? What about her?"

"She always wanted to be the best. Can't stand weakness. A bit like you, really. Except she's more than happy to get her hands dirty."

"You're wrong. About all of them. Yeah, we all have our baggage, but the reason this team works is because working together has finally made us feel comfortable in our own skin. Especially Natasha, who had screwed up a lot, who was also a victim and an assassin, and now risks her life to save people and never goes for the kill if she doesn't have to. And if you have a problem with people who tried to make themselves super, then I'm your first stop, no need to look further. These powerful HYDRA super soldiers you're worried about, you think the Avengers are the same thing? The same kind of threat?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow, looking more like the Winter Soldier than Bucky. "Power corrupts, you never heard that? Especially those who go looking for it."

"What about me then?"

"You're an outlier."

"I love the faith you have in me, Buck, but I think your problem is you've spent decades surrounded by the worst humanity has to offer. You're judging the Avengers by HYDRA standards."

"Yeah, no shit, that's my problem. I did get to see the worst of it. It's why I can recognize it. I recognize that drive. HYDRA thought they were saviors, too. It's what they always told me. They wanted a better world. Safer world. They didn't see themselves as villains."

Steve drew in a breath. "Tell me you see the difference. Between HYDRA and us."

"Tell me what was the difference between S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA? Tell me you weren't fooled once already? And don't tell me S.H.I.E.L.D. was infiltrated and it was all on HYDRA. All of S.H.I.E.L.D. was behind Project Insight. The good parts had good intentions. It led them to the same place."

Bucky was not crazy, Steve realized. He was just distrustful, with good reason. Steve had trusted the STRIKE team to have his back, and he'd been horribly wrong. Fury had good intentions, and Steve himself had warned him about it. And this wasn't even the first time S.H.I.E.L.D. had let Steve down. At the very beginning of the Avengers Initiative, they found the S.H.I.E.L.D. producing weapons of mass destruction using the Tesseract.

Bucky wasn't wrong to question everyone with power.

"Okay," Steve said. "You made your point. That's something to bear in mind. Something to watch out for. That's also the struggle you face, Buck. When you break into a HYDRA facility, fully alert and armed, then you're the one with the power. You're the one making the call between killing everyone and incapacitating them. Because you can afford to spare their lives and do better."

"I know I'm the bad guy. You don't have to convince me."

"Oh, it's that simple, then? You call yourself the bad guy and get to do whatever you want? Including judging those who are trying to do better? Tell me, at that moment when you shot them all, did you think you were doing the world a favor? Never tried to rationalize it like that in your head? But, see, that's the line. You don't get to sacrifice your conscience for the greater good. That's where HYDRA failed, that's where S.H.I.E.L.D. failed, that's where people with power, those with conviction, keep failing. They think they're making the hard choices by putting their sense of morality on the line so the others won't have to. The ultimate sacrifice. That's not the hard choice; that's the easy way out. I know because I— we made those choices in the war. We compromised ourselves because we were soldiers and that was expected of us in order to keep the civilians safe. We were wrong, but I can live with it because I think now I know better. I won't pretend I can make the right choice every time in the heat of battle, but I know that if I'm making consistent headshots, that's not it. I know that sometimes keeping myself alive does more good than bad. That's the struggle and the point is to keep struggling. That's what I see in these people. That's what I want to see in you. I'm not dying with you on this mission. We're not going out in a blaze of glory for the greater good. We do our part and trust the others to do the same. If someone stumbles, we deal with it. After."

Bucky was staring at the table and Steve couldn't take that anymore. He reached out and took Bucky's face in his hands, just like yesterday, forcing it up. Bucky tried to jerk away in surprise, but quickly settled and went still. His skin was so warm.

"I'm not asking you to trust them," Steve said. "I'm not even asking you to trust me. You say you do, but you keep going back on it. You think I'm naive, but it's not that. I can't live in a world where I don't trust people. And they've consistently proven that I can trust them. Despite everything, there are billions of them out there and most of them are trying. I want you in that world with me. I want you to try. The bad parts are not over and they'll keep coming. One after the other. If not HYDRA super soldiers then aliens or robots. It's not just about when we deal with it, but how. If you're willing to do it my way, I'm willing to trust you and not exclude you. We do this together. All of us."

Slowly, almost in slow motion, the corner of Bucky's lips turned up. "Rousing speeches. I forgot you did those. That's stupid of me. You did them twice a day back in the war."

Steve released him and pulled back, not sure if he got through, but then Bucky said, "Fine. Your way, but my timetable. This is the priority. It's not the time for shrinks or media coverage. Get your team together. I got things to say."

*

It took the whole day to try and get the team together. Succeeding was a miracle Bucky didn't appreciate enough.

Natasha, Thor, and Bruce had to abandon their alien hunt, which meant Natasha was robbed of her break. When Bucky had flatly told him he didn't trust her, Steve could no longer stay mad at her for not realizing who the Soldier really was. Bucky's doubts made him sad for her; she wanted the Soldier's forgiveness.

Still, inconveniencing her worked fine as petty revenge.

Among the first things he told her was, "I'm taking you to the Smithsonian the first chance we get, and you will see the entire exhibit. Including the footage. There's so much footage."

She wasn't interested in his empty threats. She reached out to touch his arm as they walked to the meeting room. "Steve, are you okay?"

"In Bucky's words, it's not the time for shrinks. Ask me again after I punch in a few faces."

"But… are you sure? Are you sure it's him?"

"Seriously, Nat. One trip to the Smithsonian. Grab a snack. Walk around."

"I try not to judge people based on their past. For good or ill."

I've never cared about the hero you were, Steve, was what she was saying. She didn't care about the stupid exhibit. Never saw it, never wanted to. That was fair enough. Steve mentally let it go.

"And are you sure he's got more than paranoid theories?" she asked.

"He's willing to talk. We hear him out, go from there."

She stopped him from going in with another grip on his arm. "Are you sure you're thinking straight?"

"No. It's why I got you."

*

"I thought I was here for emotional support." Sam was looking around the room. They met without Bucky first, gathered around a large conference table.

Steve didn't get a chance to answer because Thor said, "These soldiers, if they truly exist, do they have strength like the Hulk, or are they… more like you, Captain?"

"Not like the Hulk, I'm guessing," Steve said, testy.

Banner must have felt bad. "The serum Steve got injected with doesn't just give a person strength, it heightens senses, memory, intelligence—"

"Intelligence?" Thor frowned at Steve. "And what was the state of it before, my friend?"

"Do we have a problem, Thor?" Steve asked levelly.

Thor drew in a breath and made himself look taller. "We were this close to catching the Kavamgabur Bali Kah."

Clint burst out laughing. "The what?"

"No, we weren't," Nat said. "He very obviously escaped, Thor. Through a very obvious portal. He waved."

Banner nodded. "He said, 'So long, suckers.'"

Thor seemed to deflate. He finally sat down. "He said, 'We shall meet in the afterworld, lower beings.' It was a bad translation."

"All right, then…" Steve said, wishing Bucky was here to witness this exchange from the people he accused of wanting to establish world domination. "You've all been briefed—"

"Briefly," Clint said. "I need the part where Bucky Barnes is alive and is the Winter Soldier explained again." He looked at Nat miserably. "I had a Bucky Bear as a kid. I've slept with it. My childhood is ruined."

"I hear you, man," Sam said.

"I… what?" Steve asked.

"A pop-culture exhibit, Steve," Nat said. "Take a tour. Walk around. Grab a snack."

"They made plushies. Captain America and the Howling Commandos, plush-version," Clint said. "They're cute. We couldn't all be plushie Cap. Some of us were Cap's little bear friend."

Steve was stumped. "And this you knew about?" he asked Nat.

She shrugged. "Couldn't liken him to a plushie, could I?"

Steve wondered if Bucky knew about this. The sheer absurdity of it. It should elicit a laugh. Later. Bucky's timetable was the priority now.

"Didn't have one myself," Tony said, leaning back on the chair, hands behind his head, fingers intertwined, the picture of casual. "Didn't get to have plushies. Dad liked to talk about him, though. Not the plushie, the man. Not as much as about Cap, but he was up there. A kindred spirit, apparently. Great wingman. All fun and girls and booze and drinks."

Yeah, Howard liked Bucky. They didn't have many chances to relax, but when they got a chance there was booze and girls. Two peas in a pod, except not really, according to what Bucky had confessed, about how he really felt about Steve. Was Howard sad or angry or just shocked when he saw Bucky again? Did he even have time to feel anything before he was killed by his drinking buddy?

"He survived, he was captured, he was used, he's my friend. That's the story," Steve said.

"He's mentally unstable," Nat said. "That's the addendum."

"Yeah, that's likely," Steve admitted with a sigh. "Doesn't mean his information is bad. Although, maybe it is. We can't know until we hear it. That's why you're here. I can't make this call alone."

Thor nodded, finally back to his kind self. He must have realized Steve was hanging by a thread. "Understood, Captain." He frowned. "Except the part about the bears. Is that relevant? It's not a problem. I've fought many bears. But I like to be prepared."

"No," Nat said firmly. "Not relevant."

"But, um…" Clint looked around. "I don't mean to make anything awkward, but… didn't this guy kill Tony's parents?" His gaze traveled between Steve and Tony. "Or it wasn't him? Did I get something wrong?"

Steve waited. Tony gave Clint a sideways look. "It wasn't him. It was HYDRA. He was just a tool." He still sounded casual.

"Right." Clint glanced at Steve. "'Cause I heard this crazy story about how Tony tried to kill him, then save him…"

Tony shrugged. "That was yesterday."

Clint wasn't the only one who looked doubtful.

"I had a lapse. I got over it. We're good here, right, Cap?" That was a question Tony was unsure about. He'd kept Bucky's identity a secret, tried to hurt Steve, too.

This wasn't the time for grudges. Tony was sorry, terribly so; he didn't need to say it. "We're good," Steve said, honest.

Tony gave him a small nod and looked away.

"Very well, then," Thor said. "Brother in arms, returned from the dead, mentally unstable, questionable information. I am with you."

"Succinct enough for me," Tony said. "Bring him in, Cap."

*

Bucky did little but stare silently. He'd look threatening if not for the Iron Man shirt. It was grey with a picture of Tony grinning with his thumb up and bright red letters proclaiming, "U 2 R MADE OF IRON," with a smaller cursive line below, "I believe in you!"

The shirt had drawn gazes, and Clint and Bruce exchanged looks, glancing at Tony to gauge his reaction, but Tony looked perfectly indifferent.

The silence stretched.

"I had a friend with a nose made of metal," Thor said eventually. "We defended Vanaheim together. He fought well. He perished. We drank in his honor and preserved his nose in the Hall of Warriors."

"Thank you, Thor," Banner said, looking pained. "That's a fine story."

"Bucky," Steve said before Thor could think of more to say. "We're listening."

Bucky dragged his gaze away from Thor with difficulty and nodded. "There were… jokes…" he said and Steve managed not to cringe. "People would say, cut off one head, two more shall grow in its place, and the others would say, more like seven. I heard it mentioned a lot. Seven heads, seven leaders. They're like bogeymen, ruling from the shadows. Like royalty, sons inheriting their fathers' legacy. Men, all of them. Dating back from the fifties, taking over after the Red Skull was gone. Whenever someone asked too many questions about them, they disappeared. I took out two high-ranking HYDRA officers over it. With their families. They told me it was ordered by the seven heads. They knew I'd forget. They'd get careless with it sometimes, the things they said in front of me. They'd forget I'm human. The seven, they were the ones pushing for the serum for more than sixty years. The first generation is frozen, waiting for the good batch, to prolong their life. I learned about that in the nineties. The Russian government was planning to build a military facility near where they were kept. I was sent to contaminate the area with radiation, kill everyone on site, help move these guys. Took a year in cryo for me to heal."

Steve pushed away the imagery his mind tried to conjure. Bucky healed so fast. How horrific his injuries must have been for it to take a year?

He had to listen with a clear head.

"There was nothing about it in the S.H.I.E.L.D. files. That's how I know everything that went down never touched them. Nikola Bjelica developed the new batch of the serum, the one deemed good enough. Peirce knew the plan, the one that came after Project Insight, the second stage: giving the serum to the deserving. Pierce was a talker, he told me too much. He loved the sound of his voice, loved that I'd just listen and then forget. He expected to get the serum, be one of the blessed. Rumlow found out about the serum, too. From me. Because he asked and I always had to answer, and Pierce never bothered to tell me to keep my mouth shut. Rumlow went looking for Bjelica after it all went to shit. He wanted to heal, he wanted revenge. On Steve first and foremost. I thought I'd missed my shot at him while waiting for that strike on Steve, but Rumlow was slow. I had time to set up a trap in New York."

And Bucky was so desperate to destroy that recording in the New York facility. But he risked its discovery to save Steve.

"He was supposed to meet Bjelica there. Had him administer the serum, test it. They waited for him, but he never came. Rumlow got impatient, decided to test it on those stupid kids. Forced my hand. He was smart enough not to just inject himself. It would have killed him."

"Yes, it would," Banner confirmed. "Though I had to do a lot of tests to determine that."

"I saw that version before," Bucky explained. "It's old. Never worked. Those who got it, if they didn't die instantly, had to be terminated."

All of Bucky's stories ended with murder.

"I found Bjelica and questioned him."

And then killed him. Point blank, between the eyes, execution-style. Bjelica wasn't tortured, according to the coroner's report, so that was something. He must have been scared of the Winter Soldier and talked unprompted.

"He wasn't allowed to share the serum with anyone, of course, so he gave Rumlow a fake and ran. The person he was communicating with, who was giving him orders, Bjelica was scared of him, more than he was scared of me. He was scared for his family. I told him I'd kill every single one of his grandchildren if he didn't give me a name. He believed me and I got a name."

Would you do it, Buck? Steve wondered.

Bucky frowned. "No. They got nothing to do with this."

Did Steve ask that out loud? But, no, Bucky was looking at Natasha. She must have asked. Steve needed to concentrate.

"I found the guy. A major shareholder of a pharmaceutical company based in Düsseldorf. He died saying, 'Hail Hydra.'"

"Okay," Clint said. "Okay. So that was your only lead. Which you killed. Did he even confirm he knows something about the serum?"

"He's a HYDRA zealot. He didn't talk. He did throw a car at me. With his driver in it."

"So, uh..." Tony rubbed the bridge of his nose. "If someone rich and powerful got — wild guess, here — shot into the face, I'm thinking that would be a big story. Would make the news. I was keeping tabs."

"It did make the news. Said he died of cancer. The author of the article reflected on the irony of it."

"Huh. Okay, then." Tony nodded. "Here's my problem. One of several. Your scientist, Nicholas Whiteman, who I'll be calling Whiteman because I'll pronounce his real name wrong, and I hate doing that, there's always someone recording, making fun of you after…"

"You do that, Tony," Banner said. "It's always you doing that."

"Yeah, it's hilarious. Anyway, Whiteman, I read up on his work. Good career, good work, not extraordinary."

"Er, I agree," Banner said. "I read some of his papers. He's a smart guy, but not original, no breakthroughs. It doesn't really make sense he developed something that top scientists of the world failed at for seventy years."

Bucky was looking at the table again. "He developed the latest version, but the breakthrough happened before. In the nineties…" He looked up at Tony, who froze up. "That's why I was sent to kill Howard Stark. He had the samples in the trunk."

Tony nodded in a way that made it look like he had a tic. "Yeah, that makes sense." He sniffed. "That makes way more sense. What was wrong with that version?"

Steve released a breath.

Bucky stared at Tony for a moment, but then went on. "At first it looked like it worked. More than that. The test subjects were loyal soldiers, volunteers, already at top performance. After they got the serum, they could throw me around like a toy. They were fast, strong, smart. They were also complete psychopaths. Wild. Like animals. They ran, eventually, but they were in the middle of nowhere and got hunted down. HYDRA has been trying to fix the formula ever since. A lot of scientists worked on it; Bjelica was last. His version worked fine. I saw the result. Some kid in his twenties. Perfect soldier until someone told him to do something he didn't like. Kill some girl he met on a mission. He ran. I was sent after him."

"You killed him?" Clint asked. "If he was so fast and smart and strong, how?"

"I'm a sniper," Bucky said flatly. "And he was in love. I got them both with one bullet." It wasn't a brag, just a horrible statement. He killed them during their lovemaking. "It's still the best version they got. They just didn't count on him caring about something else besides HYDRA."

"Sorry, but…" Banner cleared his throat. "What about the version you got? What was wrong with it? All the… er, murders aside. I mean, we know what they… I mean, you don't seem to be a psychopath. You said you're not as strong as Steve, but you heal even faster. I'm thinking those frozen seven would have liked it just fine if it gave them a second life."

"That was Zola's version. Synthesized directly from the Red Skull's blood. He didn't crack anything, just tried different things with the samples he had. Most of his test subjects died. And then there was no more blood, only mine. He tried with that with even worse results. It was a dead end." Bucky looked around the room, his gaze settling on Steve. "I have no proof. For any of it."

"I mean," Clint said, "you would have proof if you stopped killing all your leads."

Bucky ignored him. "I do have a theory and some research to back it up. Or I had it, but then Stark took it."

Everyone looked at Tony, Steve in disbelief.

"Er, heh." Tony had the good sense to look apologetic as he reached into his pocket. "Well, yeah, okay, busted." He took out a USB drive and set it on the table. "In my defense, I didn't actually look at it." He sent it sliding towards Bucky and Bucky caught it, not looking angry, just blank, which, Steve was realizing, was his way of looking angry.

"Took it when?" Steve demanded. "Where? How?"

"It was in his arm," Tony said with a sigh.

"You can store stuff in your arm?" Sam said, incredulous. Bucky turned his eyes on him. "Hey, I think that's cool," Sam added.

"It's real cool." Clint grinned. "What else do you got in there? Does it rattle when you—"

"Clint," Steve said, annoyed.

"I didn't look," Tony interjected, defensive. "Yeah, I took it. Because I didn't know who put it there. Was it you, someone else? Was it a USB drive or a tiny bomb just pretending? It's not a tiny bomb, by the way. That I checked. But I didn't look. I was just waiting for… a moment like this. Now I know it's yours. So. No harm done."

Bucky clearly didn't believe him, but Steve did. Tony wouldn't have dared to look, too afraid of what he'd find.

Bucky slid the USB back to Tony. "We can look now, then."

"Sure." Tony's smile was forced as he got up to fire up the big screen at the front of the room and pushed the USB drive into the console above the keyboard. No one except Natasha and Steve knew Tony was still terrified of what he might see.

A window with a password field pulled up. Tony looked at Bucky expectantly.

"Captain America," Bucky said, unabashed.

Steve winced as Tony said, "Jesus, please be kidding. Oh my god."

Bucky said nothing and Tony looked like he might actually break the keyboard. "I'm embarrassed for you. I can't take it," he said, typing as though disgusted.

"All caps."

"Oh my god." Tony deleted the little stars, retyped, and pressed enter. A rain of symbols showed up on the screen. All jumbled, blinking out of existence.

"What's happening?" Steve asked.

"It's…" Tony stared. "It's self-destructing." He started pressing keys to no avail.

"You really didn't look," Bucky said, calm but puzzled.

"I told you," Tony exclaimed. "For fuck's sake, do something. It was in your arm. It's gotta be important. Stop killing the evidence! Why are you just—" The screen went blank. "Unbelievable. You are psychotic."

At least Tony was back to his normal behavior for a moment there.

Bucky stood up and effectively ignored everyone straightening up in their chairs as he walked over to the console. Tony stepped back as Bucky took out the USB, put it on the table, and smashed it with his metal arm.

"Look, buddy, that's not looking good…" Clint was saying, genuinely concerned, like the rest of them, but Bucky picked up what they soon realized was a much smaller USB drive from the shattered mess.

"Oh, you little sneak," Tony said, delighted. "Oh, Cap, your boyfriend's got moves."

Steve froze and Bucky fumbled with the drive for a second too long, but the moment passed, and Bucky was typing something until files started opening up on the screen.

Blood was pounding in Steve's ears so hard he missed what Bucky said.

"I got this list after looking into that super soldier in Germany," Bucky was saying when Steve's ears started working. "All his dealings, financials, him and his family's, kids, wife, brother, and sister. They're all shareholders, different companies, not always key shareholders, or so it seemed at first. Then, I looked at those companies, the other shareholders, it all spreads out, all over the world, pharmaceuticals, IT, weapons, cosmetics, a mess I almost gave up on. But eventually, the list narrowed, the circle closed. These ninety-seven people and their families are all interconnected through these companies. It's an accumulation of wealth that flies under the radar. Which is bad in itself, but I know I missed stuff, stuff that would eliminate more people from this list. I'm not saying they're all HYDRA. This wasn't easy to filter out. They cover their trail, use foundations, dummy companies, hedge funds. It's not exactly my area of expertise."

"Wait, wait, wait," Tony said, hands in the air. "Are you saying the world's economy is corrupt and there are people hiding their income? That's so shocking. Owners of big companies are bad people? My world has gone askew. Next thing you'll say they treat their workers badly. For the record, I'm a great boss. Ask anyone. Not Maria Hill, though. I don't think she likes me."

Bucky gave him another blank stare. "Except one of them was a HYDRA super soldier. Look, the point is these people aren't overly impressive, individually, but if you put them together, the power and influence they wield—"

"Why are they all men?" Natasha asked.

"Because it's always men," Bucky said, a bit testy now. "Look around the room, Natalia."

Natasha frowned.

"Uh-oh," Clint said.

"Hey." Tony grimaced. "I was gonna ask Hill to be here, but she's busy. Pepper could have come. I didn't know we'd be talking about foundations and hedge funds. And I object to this comparison."

So did Steve, as Bucky had previously accused them of more than just being men.

"Hey, don't look at me," Sam said. "I'm Black."

"Good point," Bucky said. "I also crossed out everyone who isn't white. HYDRA got along with the Nazis too well."

"Oh. You were crossing out people based on—" Tony sighed. "Okay, so this list…" He raised his right hand, palm outstretched. "If this is the actual investigative work, then…" He raised his left. "Can I get the guesswork ratio here?" He started raising and lowering his left hand. "This much? This much?"

"Yes, it's a lot of guesswork," Bucky said. His angry face didn't look blank anymore, just angry. "I didn't find any, 'we're HYDRA' calling cards. But they exist. Everything's here. You can go through it yourself, but that will take time."

"If I may ask a question," Thor said and Steve tensed up again. "Do you have a specific location where we can strike or do you mean to have us strike at these 97 individuals? Is there a way to lure them all in one place? I do not have much time. Or would you have us read these… things on the screen?"

Steve took a deep breath.

"Yeah, I'm with Thor on this," Clint said. "This feels like homework. Are we getting homework now? From the Winter Soldier?"

Steve couldn't tell if Bucky was baffled or angry. He just stared for a few moments. "This is evidence," he said eventually. "The kind of thing you need. You know, to charge them with criminal conspiracy. It needs more work. I did what I could, the rest is beyond me. There's an easier way to find them. One of these companies is a cryonics company, based in Zurich." He pulled up several images including an aerial shot of a luxurious compound, surrounded by high walls.

"That says Johnson's Pennsylvania Care Facility," Tony said. "Why is it in Zurich?"

"It's not," Bucky said, clearly getting frustrated. "There's nothing in Zurich. I'm getting around to explaining that."

"Well, you're shit at presentations," Tony told him. "The screen should follow what you're saying. That's basic stuff, c'mon."

"It is easier to follow," Thor put in.

Bucky waited for a few beats again. "Okay," he said slowly. "Point is, I checked out the facility in Zurich, found nothing, except frozen dead rich people, but none alive. However, seven new patients arrived in a private hospital not 100 miles away, admitted to the coma ward. They've been moved several times. The last lead ends in Pennsylvania. I was there, but the security was too tight. Some sort of forcefield around the perimeter, armed guards with experimental weapons, god-knows-what else. Couldn't get in on my own. It's definitely a HYDRA facility. I recognize the weapons and energy signatures."

"Okay, loving that," Clint said. "We should definitely throw a party there. I am slightly concerned this is some sort of HYDRA retirement home. Which… might not be a very cool party?"

"HYDRA members shouldn't get easy retirements," Steve said. "Prison is the place for them, and I don't mind making sure that's where they go. It does sound like the serum didn't work as well as intended, though. If they were in a coma, moved around so much, and now locked up."

Bucky shrugged. "I don't know if there are any precedents on this, any tests they did. All I know is these guys were old, but not dead when they were frozen. They must have had a reason to think the serum would somehow restore them. Maybe in combination with something else. They did a lot of experiments on prolonging life, preserving youth and vitality. If it didn't work, all the better. Once we get them, we'll know who they are, and we can get their heirs. They're the real targets." He glanced at Tony. "If the heirs aren't on my list, you can make jokes."

"Oh, I'll be making jokes either way," Tony said. "Humor is food for the soul." He snapped his fingers. "All right, then. J.A.R.V.I.S. can deal with the list."

"I've already begun compiling the data, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. said.

"Good. I like this part better. Weapons, force fields. I love a good force field. We should strike, hard and fast. Well, not too hard. Old people are frail."

Everyone seemed to glance at Steve.

"Do a flyby first," Steve said, mentally shaking his head at Tony, who was so eager to indulge Bucky, he was ready to skip right over basic precautions. Steve worried he'd be the one trying to indulge Bucky to the point of throwing caution to the wind, but Tony was worse than Steve. "Make sure the facility isn't tied to any agency."

"Flyby, sure, sure," Tony said, waving him off. "But if it does have ties to the government, that doesn't mean it's not HYDRA."

"I realize that," Steve said, "but I'd like to know, going in."

"About that." Banner cleared his throat. "Is Sergeant Barnes coming with us?"

Bucky looked at him, but Steve couldn't read his expression. Was he annoyed by the question? Surprised by the address? Steve was. He hadn't heard it for so long. Sergeant Barnes. It brought back so many memories.

"He is," Steve said and suddenly everyone got their poker faces on. "That was the deal. He gives us information and we take him with us."

Clint's eyebrow rose. "Generally, I like to know beforehand that I'm making a deal."

"This is beforehand," Steve said levelly. "We're still here, aren't we?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Bucky give him a sharp look. But they were a team. Steve couldn't push Bucky on them if they didn't trust him.

"Do we need that much firepower?" Banner asked. "Do we even need the Hulk? Considering all the frail old people. I guess we'll know when Tony gives it a look."

No, they had to decide now. This was one facility, not an alien attack. They didn't need Bucky. Banner just wanted to postpone the moment to say so. "Bucky wants to go after the serum," Steve said. "To make sure it's destroyed." Bucky was still staring at him.

"Ah," Banner said and nodded. He at least understood what Steve was saying, that Bucky didn't trust them with it. "Is it at all likely they'd have the serum stored there? I thought they'd already been injected with it if they're out of cryo."

"The dosages vary," Bucky said. "Sometimes they gave people several shots over a longer period. That's how it worked with some versions. I don't know about this one."

"Sounds like the beginning of a plan, then," Tony said. "We go after the old people, god help them, Sarge goes for the little blue vials, Big Green waits for Code Green. I'll let you know what I find, you let me know how you want to do it, Cap. You should fire up the jet—" He checked his watch. "At seven pm."

Steve was distracted by Tony calling Bucky Sarge so easily, but not distracted enough. "In six hours?" He frowned. "You wouldn't need that long even with the return trip. And you don't need to make a return trip."

"What, I thought you wanted me to be thorough?" Tony rolled his eyes. "Look, I have a thing. Okay? I have a thing to do. Money thing. I have to put food on the table, you know?"

"Pepper does that," Natasha commented.

"Seven pm. Nineteen hundred hours, for you military weirdos," Tony said, clearly getting ready to leave. "Don't pout, Cap. Think of a plan. We'll do your plan. Always happy to do your plan. You're the boss, no need to feel threatened."

Steve wasn't feeling threatened, but concerned that Tony was up to something. There was no stopping him, though. He said, "See you all in the afterworld, lower beings," and was gone.

Banner sighed. "This is how he'll say bye from now on."

Some awkward silence followed, and then Thor, Bruce, and Clint said they'd go get ready, which meant they'd go sit somewhere else and discuss Bucky. Clint nodded at Bucky on his way out, and said, "Sarge," and Steve smiled at him.

Natasha and Sam lingered.

Natasha gave Steve a look, and he nodded at Sam. "Come on, I'll show you your room."

"Oh, I've already seen it," Sam said and then took note of Steve's face. "But obviously I want to check it out again."

"See you later, Buck," Steve said, and Bucky said nothing, just watched them leave him alone with Natasha.

*

"This is really excessive," Sam said, looking around the flat. "A single room would have been more than fine."

"Yeah, but then it would be harder to make people stick around."

"That's Tony's goal? That's kind of, well, a little sad. Weird, too. He comes across as heartless sometimes."

Steve shrugged. "Fooled me, too, at first."

"So, him trying to murder your best friend, that's water under the bridge? Just like that?"

Steve sat down on one of the comfy sofas. "I feel too stretched out for pointless grudges. If Bucky killed my mom… I don't know. Can't picture it, can't judge. If someone else had done it…" He shrugged. He honestly didn't know what he'd do.

"And Tony? He doesn't want to kill him anymore? He gave him a shirt with his face and he's calling him Sarge? That's a little scary."

Steve sighed. "I don't want to go into it, Sam. Not now, I can't. But... something happened and Tony wants to help Bucky now. I believe him."

Sam looked doubtful.

"Natasha believes him," Steve added. "It's not a concern."

Sam opened his mouth, but then must have remembered Steve said he didn't want to get into it, so he nodded and sat on the couch directly across. "I'd like to know where your head's at."

"Undetermined, as of yet. Somewhere between deliriously happy and overwhelmingly horrified."

"You know, I read a few biographies. Yours, I mean. They all liked to talk about the tragedy of you losing your best friend. I never heard you mention him, though. You mentioned the other commandos. I figured it was too painful."

"It was." It hurt to think his name. Remember his face. The last time he saw Bucky, he was falling, terrified, reaching towards Steve. The last time Steve said his name he screamed it at that moment. "I got him killed, there's no way around that."

"War got him killed, Steve. Him and many others. But others didn't come back."

"Yeah, that's the deliriously happy part. The horrifying part is he was hoping for me to save him. On that train, on that mountain, in HYDRA's hands, getting torn apart. It really is like a ghost story. What makes them scary. You know, people with unfinished business, getting stuck on a single thought and doomed to exist in a moment, a nightmare in their heads forever. That was him. A neverending nightmare with me as the hope that failed him."

"It ended, though. You did save him."

"Yeah, it only took seventy years."

"The permanence of death and the eternity spent in a loop is what makes ghost stories scary. He's not dead. Do you think that'd be better?"

Steve stared at Sam. "How can I answer that?"

"With honesty?"

"It's too selfish, though. To be happy he's alive. After everything he'd gone through. I wouldn't wish it on anyone."

"No. You get to be happy he's alive. That's a legitimate feeling you're allowed to feel. You also get to think it might have been better for him if he had died. Those are normal human feelings, Steve. Ask anyone who has ever seen a loved one suffer from a terrible disease."

A loved one. That was true, wasn't it? Steve loved Bucky, always had. And Bucky loved Steve, though that meant something else to Bucky, and Steve never knew.

No, he still wasn't thinking about it. Not relevant. Not now.

"I hate to tell you, man, but you look like shit," Sam said eventually.

"Thanks."

"You need to shave before you put your helmet on. It's gonna look stupid otherwise."

"Sounds like a priority."

"It is, as a matter of fact. Your world gets shaken up, you hold onto a routine. A shower, a shave, a nap, a nice big meal. Keep it going."

"All right, you got my measure. Did you get Bucky's?"

Sam leaned back. "Honestly? He looks like he did all that, fresh look, mind sharp, you seem worse off."

Steve shook his head. "But that's one of the things that worries me. The way he's acting. It's like… The things he's been through, the things that were done to him, for so long. And what he's been through in these last few days, the pain, the fear… He just takes it and moves on. That level of endurance and efficiency… I'm not sure if that's something to be admired or something to be terrified of. Terrified for him. When he has nothing to do, he just sits and stares and waits. Like he puts himself in storage. There's enduring, there's waiting, and there's the mission. I don't know what happens when the mission ends. Will he look for another or… shut down?"

"I can't answer that," Sam said. "But I can tell you that if he's only pretending to be functional, it's not necessarily a bad thing. He exists the way he existed for decades. That makes sense. It's the routine he knows. It might even make him feel safe." Sam lifted his hands when Steve opened his mouth. "I know, I know, that sounds terrible. But people have been known to use much worse coping mechanisms. Look, he has you and he knows that. That's huge. That he knows he can come to you. The rest will take time. I mean, he could have been some poor soul with no one in his corner. I'm not sure what his chances would be then, but he not only has his best friend by his side for emotional support, he also has his best friend's friends, who happen to be a group of people wielding a lot of power, and some of them a lot of money. Let's be real, all of that is a factor. It helps. He'll get chances, medical resources, the best therapists, security, safety… All good things. On top of that, considering his unique situation, he just happens to be surrounded by people who can make sure he doesn't hurt anyone. What happened to him, that's done, can't be undone, but the future, Steve? It doesn't have to be bleak. And the real cool part? You're not alone in this."

Steve drank up Sam's words like a man dying from thirst. Bucky would get everything he needed. And, no, he wasn't alone.

"Are you gonna cry?" Sam asked, not unkindly. "Do you want me to leave? If that's how you roll, then that's how you roll. I don't mind, either way."

Steve didn't cry, but he said, "I'm so glad you're here, have I mentioned that?"

"You haven't, actually." Sam grinned. "I flew in, thinking of helping out a friend, who I thought had things to say. But then I got briefed by Clint, who was briefed by Banner, who was briefed by Natasha. Which was the worst game of broken telephone ever. I was put in a room with a man who's tried to kill me and then saved my life, and the Avengers, who are acting like I'm one of them, even though no one has ever said anything to me officially, so I'm kind of unclear on my status. And then we all agreed to attack a bunch of old people. So. That was my day."

"Sorry," Steve said, cringing. "Bucky made it urgent and… What do you mean you're unclear about your status? You've been working with us for months. Of course you're an Avenger."

"Okay, now you've said it. That's good. That makes things clear." He reached into his back pocket and took out his phone. "Now could you please repeat that so I can send it to my sister and nephews?"

"Sam Wilson is an Avenger," Steve said solemnly. "And a damn good friend."

"Aw, man, you can't say damn." He shook his head, smiling. "It's fine. I'll edit."

"Sorry," Steve said without the energy to look sheepish. "And I'm sorry you said all those good things about Bucky, and all he has are doubts and distrust. He thinks you'll take the serum if you get the chance."

Sam frowned. "Me specifically?"

"You, Clint, Nat, Tony."

"Look, I don't know the guy well enough to be insulted or something."

"He's concerned about Avengers in general. He's afraid we'll get too powerful and become the thing we're fighting against."

"What did you tell him?"

"The truth. That I'm aware of that, we all are, and we'll keep each other in check."

"Well, okay, sure. But maybe also bear in mind that he had to kill everyone who ever took the serum. That's what he just told us. Was supposed to kill you, too. Must have thought about killing himself. Maybe he has public-spirited reasons to make sure no one uses that serum again, like what you're saying, or… He just doesn't want to end up killing your friends."

"That's… That didn't occur to me."

"That's because your thoughts are stuck in a loop. Maybe try some different perspectives before you become a ghost story? Either way, he gets to be distrustful. It'd be weirder if he wasn't. I have trust issues just because Natasha switched my salt and sugar jars once."

Steve pursed his lips. "That's just plain evil."

"I know."

What did Nat want to say to Bucky, that was what Steve wanted to know.

"You know, she could be good for him," Steve said, wondering what Sam thought about that. "They have a connection, shared experiences." Nat and Bucky, what a pair. Steve loved them both, though it was odd to compare those feelings. Bucky was… He made Steve's fingers itch, all the time, made them eager to touch. Steve didn't know what to do with that need. It was Bucky, and he was broken. How cruel would it be to make him deal with Steve's confusion? Steve wasn't a priority here, Bucky was.

"Mmm," was all Sam said.

*

Steve took a shower and shaved. He checked his armor and even polished his shield.

When he was done, he went to the kitchen and found Bucky at the table, eating. He'd been gone for a long time.

"Got any for me?" Steve asked, eyeing the food on the table.

"Er, yeah." Bucky looked… confused? Pensive? Sad? It was so hard to tell. Before, Steve could read Bucky like a book.

Except no. No, he couldn't. He'd just learned that.

"I wasn't sure if you were here or…" Bucky added. "Natalia said I can just…" He waved vaguely at the ceiling. "Ask for food and the AI would send it up."

"Yeah." Didn't Steve tell him that? Apparently not. How did this topic come up during the conversation with Natasha, that was the real question. Which Steve didn't want to ask.

He sat down, frowning. Bucky had an obscene number of cheeseburgers and fries. It didn't really matter, with the serum, but still. Steve always tried not to overindulge.

"Did you want something else?" Bucky asked. Apologetic? Annoyed?

"No, it's fine." Steve hurried to take one. "Is everything ok? With you and Nat?" he asked, because he'd combust otherwise.

Bucky shrugged. "She's not as easy to read these days."

Steve waited for more, but Bucky just ate. It did sound like maybe Bucky was willing to acknowledge he'd been wrong about her.

"Are you okay with the serum being your prime objective during the mission?" Steve asked.

"That's what I wanted."

But he also wanted to kill the frozen seven heads of HYDRA. Or maybe he didn't. Maybe he was glad the rest of them would deal with it.

Steve wished he could talk to Bucky with ease. He wished he knew what to say. But Bucky was the one who always conversed with ease. He could get anyone talking.

"You're really good with computers," Steve said.

"Had to be."

"Yeah… But that was always your thing. Futuristic stuff. Sci-fi."

Bucky gave him a look. Not one of those blank ones. This one Steve could almost recognize. It would usually end with Bucky calling Steve a punk.

"Computers are not sci-fi, Steve. Not anymore. You didn't wake up yesterday. You should have learned this stuff by now. The serum makes it so easy."

"Maybe. But then I'd have to spend hours behind one. This way other people do the boring work and tell me what they've found in seconds."

That earned Steve a small smile.

Okay. Steve could live on that for a few hours.

Bucky finished his cheeseburger and was eyeing another one. He didn't take it; instead, he spoke.

"I hear you've set up a foundation that awards scholarships."

Steve managed to chew and swallow his bite without choking on it. "Is that something you hear? Or you spent hours doing boring work?"

"It wasn't boring. You have an interesting selection criteria."

Steve had Maria Hill set it up. She assured him it couldn't be traced back to him.

"I got backpay," Steve said. "A pretty big sum. Didn't really want it, but they set up an account anyway. It's more than I can spend in a lifetime. Helping out the descendants of the people I cared about seemed only fair."

Bucky nodded. "You missed two. Dugan's great-grandkids."

"He didn't have kids."

"He did. Knocked up a girl right before the war. Her dad married her off to some fancy lawyer, who later fell into gambling debts, blew out his brains, and left her and her kids destitute. Dugan was dead by then. I looked it up."

"I—" That was a shock. "Why did he never tell me?"

"Of course he didn't. He was afraid you'd lecture him."

"What? I wouldn't—"

Bucky huffed. "Sure you would. He gave her the old, 'I'm shipping out in two weeks. I might die, sweetheart.' Wasn't careful, went away, couldn't fix it from the battlefield. Ruined her life. You'd give him a piece of your mind."

"Well… sounds like he did mess up. Or what? You were more sorry for him? Saw nothing wrong with it?"

"I saw it. He saw it. But you asked why he never told you, so I'm telling. He didn't need to get beat when he was already down."

"So that's how he saw me? That's how you all saw me? No empathy for someone with regrets?" That was unfair. And untrue.

"Steve, no." Bucky reached out and grabbed Steve's wrist.

Steve froze up, the combination of Bucky's soft tone and his touch sending him backward in time when Steve raised his fists to fight and Bucky would stop him.

"It's not a bad thing, you know," Bucky went on, unaware of the tumult of emotions in Steve's chest. "Soldiers fearing their Captain's lectures. You made all of us want to do better. Hey."

Steve looked at him.

"No one ever questioned your empathy," Bucky said, no blankness in his expression. That was just a mask he was used to, that made him feel safe, hidden from the world that kept trying to hurt him.

Was Sam right? That Bucky wasn't really afraid that the Avengers would turn power-hungry, but he just didn't want to kill anymore. And he thought he had to, that it was his duty, the only thing he was good for. Steve made him kill too. Always put him deep into the shadows with his rifle.

And Steve told him, this very morning, that he shouldn't sacrifice his conscience so the others wouldn't have to. That wasn't the way. But it was the only way Bucky thought he had to do good.

Steve placed his free hand on top of Bucky's. "No one ever questioned your empathy either. It's why you got to hear all the stories."

"Yeah, it was that or all the booze. It didn't affect me as much as the others, so I got to remember things that should have been secret drunken ramblings."

"I should have known. I should have noticed what Zola did to you." But Steve couldn't get drunk at all, so he didn't drink with them. He'd always make an excuse and retreat. It was no fun being eternally sober. Bucky got praised for his ability to hold his liquor. Steve thought nothing of it.

"How could you, when I didn't?" Bucky asked. "I just thought I got tougher. Could run a little faster, carry the gear a little easier. Still nowhere near your level. That was just the beginning; there were more experiments after. We couldn't have known."

"I should have—"

"Steve." Bucky leaned in. "If it helps, when I fell, in those few first moments, I was at peace. I thought I died protecting you. It's how I wanted to go."

That didn't help. How the hell would that help? That made it worse. But what Steve said was, "I thought you said you picked up that shield to one-up me, to prove something."

Bucky's lips twitched. "That, too. But I could never stand seeing you get pushed down, unless it was me doing it."

They were too close, Steve realized. He could feel Bucky's breath on his face. Bucky's gaze was restless, searching. And Steve could almost… imagine…

Slowly, Steve pulled back. He moved his fingers a bit, the ones on Bucky's hand, a small caress, an apology, to take away the sting of the retreat.

"We'll deal with what's left of HYDRA, I promised you that, but then you stay here, with me, and we start anew."

"Okay." Bucky nodded and pulled his hand away.

*

"You're with Sergeant Barnes."

Thor cocked his head, grimacing a smile. "Getting the little blue vials? Which might not be there?"

"Among other things," Steve said, eyes on the hangar's entrance where the rest of the team was slowly milling in. There was still no sign of Bucky. "Sometimes we have to kill in battle, there's no way around it. It's different for him. He needs a way around."

"Understood, Captain," Thor said.

Steve hesitated. "He doesn't trust us. I mean, the Avengers. So, just, be careful what you say to him?"

"Of course. I'll tell him tales of our bravery and smash everyone with my hammer before he gets a chance to go near them."

"Not exactly what I meant."

Thor laughed and clasped Steve's shoulder with excessive force. If Steve wasn't already used to it, he'd have stumbled. "I know what you meant. I strike the killing blow when I must, and I know how to keep fellow warriors in check. I'm honored you'd entrust your friend to me. Doesn't mean I can't laugh at that little frown you do."

Steve had a few choice words to say about that, but Bucky walked in. He was wearing a new outfit, his customary leather and armor, but new and slick, with many pockets and metal bits that could have been hiding some sort of tech. Or knives. Steve didn't have to wonder who designed it and made it. Tony postponed the damn mission to finish this suit. A lot of care went into it, to make it look impressive and just plain cool. Knowing Tony, it was likely also as functional as he could make it. Tony had improved Steve's suit, too. He hated the one Steve had and fixed it up. Steve never really thought about it — he cared about function and the responsibility of the symbol he'd been tasked to embody — but that had been Tony's way of showing he cared.

Steve couldn't tell if Bucky was happy with the new suit or not. He didn't really have a choice; it was that or one of Iron Man t-shirts. Steve should have thought of that. He was so bad at this.

"I'd prefer my old gear," Bucky said when he reached him, defensive and self-conscious. "Stark is… strange. Why would he do this?"

"Your old gear is torn to bits," Steve said, ignoring the remark about Tony. "It looks good." It looked more than good. It looked… Steve's mouth went dry.

"But why…" Bucky shook his head. He wanted to discuss Tony's motives, Steve knew. He must have realized Steve was avoiding the subject. "No cape, so that's something," Bucky said instead, frowning at Thor.

Steve couldn't help laughing at that imagery: Bucky in a red cape.

Bucky smiled, too, watching him.

"Wheels up in five," Steve said, looking away.

*

It was a bunch of old people, all right.

"Guys," Natasha panted through the comms. She was gasping from laughter even though she had just told them she had hidden under the desk and was fighting for her life. "Guys, they're zombies."

"They're not zombies," Tony's voice crackled in Steve's ears. "They're super-powered zombies." He sounded ecstatic.

"Yes, I'm so happy right now," Sam said. He and Steve were hiding behind a desk, too.

"All right, this is pointless," Steve said. Tony had got them through the barriers and they got through the guards easily enough, with some scratches and bruises, but they realized too late that the guards weren't there to keep people out, but to keep the monstrosities HYDRA had engineered in.

"HULK SMASH," the Hulk said and they could hear him doing it.

"Yes, good," Steve said. "But, Tony, that's what you should do. That's the new plan. We need the records; we have to identify these guys. So, everyone, Tony says there's nothing on the computers, find written records, names, pictures, anything. Signal when you do, we'll retreat, and Tony will blow it all to hell." Steve took a breath and yelled. "HULK, TO THE GATE. DON'T LET ANYONE LEAVE."

"HULK NOT DEAF."

"Tony now deaf," Tony grumbled.

"Sam, we gotta move," Steve said, getting up and sending his shield flying. The damn zombie super soldier at the door caught it.

Sam blew his brains out. "At least they're not bulletproof."

They ran down the corridor.

"Yo, Sarge!" Clint yelled through the comms. "That all men, no women theory of yours? An old lady just caught my arrow, had it explode in her face, and she's… Aw, man. That's so gross. Stop! Stop walking. Just…" There was a loud crunching sound. Clint sighed. "And we don't even get dental for this gig."

"Yeah, and the seven heads theory got shot," Natasha said. "As in I literally shot seven and there are more."

"Steve and I got more than seven," Sam said.

"Are you bragging right now?" Natasha demanded.

"What? No. I'm agreeing with you," Sam argued just as Steve spun around and flew, legs first, at one of the zombified old guys creeping after Sam.

The guy's head hit the wall and cracked with a crunch.

"Did no one watch a zombie movie?" Tony asked. "They could be contagious. Did anyone get bit?"

"They're not contagious," Bucky said, and Steve's heart inexplicably skipped a beat. This was the first time Bucky had spoken. "We found the lab; it's smashed to bits. The serum was here, but it's gone now. The original seven must have given it to the others. That was always the mark of the Stark version. They want to unite, make everyone in their image, create an army, a pack. Looks like they didn't fix that flaw. Steve, we can't blow them up. If the bodies are preserved there's a chance we can find the originals, the ones who were frozen."

"Can we vote on this?" Clint asked. "I liked the 'let's blow them up to hell' plan."

Steve didn't want to say it, didn't want to hastily agree with Bucky, so Sam did. "Bucky's right. We'd be blowing up evidence. You hate that, remember? C'mon, it's not like they're super-smart. And they're actually kind of squishy. We can take them. I bet we're halfway there."

*

They counted around sixty of them altogether. Which was a lot. Hulk got most of them because eventually they started running for the gate.

"So," Sam said, "today we learned that the serum shouldn't be given to old people."

They met Natasha and Clint outside on the grounds.

Clint grinned. "Yes, I love educational missions."

"Probably wasn't just the serum," Natasha said. "A combination of experiments, more like."

"Tony?" Steve asked, tapping the comms.

"Just scanning for stragglers," Tony said in his ear.

"Thor, status?" Steve said. There was no answer. "Thor, status? Thor? Bucky?"

Natasha went pale.

*

They found Thor, knocked out in one of the rooms, in the middle of carnage. Steve didn't even know it was possible for Thor to get knocked out, but that was not his concern right now.

"Where's Bucky?" he asked when Thor had come around.

"We were swarmed," Thor said, with a groan.

"Did the Sarge knock you out?" Clint asked, and Steve would have yelled at him for suggesting it, but he wondered the same.

"I don't know." Thor frowned. "He was shooting at them. I threw my hammer. There were so many. And they were so reluctant to go down. Some of them were armed. They shot back." He reached behind to touch the back of his head. His hand came out bloody. "Huh. Your earthly guns are ineffective."

"They were effective enough," Steve said, his heart pounding. "Tony? Where's Bucky? You got eyes on him?"

"Er," Tony's voice came over the comms. "It looks like he… Goddamit. I'm looking at tire tracks. A motorcycle. Guessing here, our motorcycle, from the jet. Due west, towards Philly."

No, no, no. "Go," Steve said. If Bucky ran and reached the city, he'd be lost to them. They couldn't find him in a city that big.

"I don't get it," Sam said. "Why would he run?"

Natasha shook her head. "He seemed… I thought he wanted to stay. Go through the whole process, get pardoned, move on… I was so sure."

So was Steve. He looked at Thor, who was getting up. "Did he say anything?"

Thor shook his head and grimaced. "Nothing of consequence. He asked questions about the Avengers. I was full of praise. I told him about our adventures."

"That's all?" Steve asked. He was finding it hard to breathe. The stench of dead bodies wasn't helping. "Did he have any strange reactions? What did you tell him?"

"Hey, Steve, take it easy," Sam said. "It's not Thor's fault."

But it was. Steve had asked Thor to watch Bucky.

"I swear, my friend, nothing was amiss," Thor said, clearly honest. "We worked well together. He listened to everything I said with great interest. The Sergeant doubts us, I only meant to put him at ease. Oh. We did find… " He frowned, looking around. "There." He pointed at a computer. "The Sergeant looked through the hard drive but apparently everything was deleted. That's when we got attacked."

Natasha already moved to the computer and started typing. She shook her head. "Nope. Nothing here. Literally nothing. Everything's been scrubbed."

"Are you sure?" Steve asked. This must have been the reason Bucky had run. He found something and went off on his own. "Maybe Bucky deleted it."

Thor shook his head. "No, you do not understand. This all happened too quickly. He looked it over, said everything was gone, which meant there was something here, after all, some records important enough to be destroyed, and in seconds we were swarmed. I only had time to assure him Stark would undoubtedly salvage the data."

A horrifying thought occurred to Steve.

"What else? What else did you say about me?" Tony asked, voice cracking; he must have flown far by now.

"All good things," Thor said again, defensive. "I said even the Kree would be impressed by you. There was nothing you couldn't restore. That no one could hide anything from you and J.A.R.V.I.S."

Steve closed his eyes. No one could hide anything. Not even you, Buck.

Bucky had been so suspicious and Steve had been trying to deflect him. He wouldn't need much to finally make a conclusion, to realize why Tony had changed his mind about him. All he needed was a hint, and it clicked.

"Cap?" Tony said. "Cap, I lost the trail. I'm over the city."

Natasha squeezed Steve's arm.

Bucky was gone.

Chapter Text

"J.A.R.V.I.S. will find him," Tony said, rocking in his chair, typing only occasionally. "This is a temporary setback."

"This is your fault, you realize that?" Steve wished he could pace. He'd seen people do it when they were worried. It must have helped them. But Steve couldn't move; he couldn't even sit down. He wanted to be ready to leave the moment Tony got a lead.

"I thought we agreed it was Thor's fault," Tony said.

"He meant well. I told him Bucky is distrustful of the Avengers and he should watch what he says in front of him. He took that to mean he should sing our praises."

"So, it's your fault."

"I'm not the one who made him a pretty new suit."

"Oh, you think it's pretty?"

"You've been acting strangely," Steve said, annoyed. "He noticed. He wondered. He figured it out."

"To be fair… to me. I can't fucking help it. I've told you."

"Yeah." Steve couldn't really blame Tony or Thor. He should have told Bucky why Tony had changed his mind. Tell him he had found a recording of Bucky being tortured and it got to him. Maybe finding out like that would have been better. Now, who knew what Bucky was thinking? That they had all seen it? Threw a watch party?

"Okay, can we…" Tony sighed. "Act like shrinks or something and figure out his state of mind? You know him best."

"You saw the recording."

Tony blew out a breath so hard it sounded like he was blowing a raspberry. "Okay. He's horrified that someone has seen it. Can't stand to be around that person. Afraid of being pitied, considered weak?"

"He doesn't know who saw it and how much they've seen," Steve added.

"Main objective is hiding, then. From us. Does that mean he's giving up on finding HYDRA heads?"

Steve thought about that. "No. It's too important to him. His purpose. He just doesn't want to do it with us anymore."

"Okay, but that's good. Means we're one step ahead of him. Once the bodies in that facility are processed, we should know who the frozen seven were. He wants to keep looking for their heirs, he needs that info. J.A.R.V.I.S.?"

"Working on setting up a trap, sir."

"There we go." Tony grinned. "He tries to access that info, we got him."

"We don't have the info yet."

"We will. I might even find something on that deleted hard drive. Eventually. But please, stick around and hover. I love that."

"Good." Steve wasn't going anywhere.

Natasha walked in, took one look at Steve, and said, "Still nothing?"

"We're waiting for you to enlighten us," Tony said. "Is there some particular Russian way of dealing with things like this?"

"Punching, killing, blowing stuff up?"

"That's not particular. Already scanning for possible incidents. But that's interesting. We were doing a psych eval. You're saying he's angry?"

"Furious, probably. Betrayed. He's thinking, I stood there in front of them, sharing information, planning attacks, and they were indulging me, pretending I'm one of them and not a thing that was torn apart for the pleasure of others. He's humiliated. All over again."

That was specific. Natasha slipped into that frame of mind too easily.

She wouldn't want that acknowledged, though.

Steve ignored the increasing queasiness in his stomach. "Should I have told him?" he asked.

Her smile was kind. "I don't know. Probably wouldn't help much. We should have told everyone else. Which is what I just did."

"What?" Tony nearly jumped out of his chair.

"Nat," Steve said, horrified. "That's the opposite of what he'd want."

"He can't have what he wants, because it happened, and Tony found it, and saw it. That's just done. He's wondering what the rest of us know and that's going to drive him crazy forever, so now we can give him a clear answer. He can either deal with it or not. Besides…" She sighed. "I have four pissed off guys up there, feeling angry and betrayed because a teammate they went on a limb for — huge limb, Steve, for you, you do realize that? — ran away mid-mission, after possibly shooting Thor, because we don't really know how Thor got knocked out, and they're thinking the three of us are compromised or brainwashed or just plain stupid. Or under an alien love spell — Thor's theory."

Tony rubbed his face and sat back down.

"And now?" Steve asked, defeated. "What's the mood?"

"Sympathetic. Obviously." She walked over to Tony and he tensed. "I hate to ask…"

"I hate hate-to-ask questions," he said, looking up at her, head between his hands.

"Look, he's spiraling," she said. "We need to find him fast. I can't help him, not really, but I know what he needs to hear. I know what to say to make him pause and take a breath, but I need to know, to be sure, so I don't say the wrong thing… I need you to explicitly tell me… Was the torture you've witnessed also sexual?"

Tony's Adam's apple jumped as he said, "Yeah."

Steve took a step back and leaned against the wall. He knew that. Tony had heavily implied it. Bucky's desperation to get rid of the recording confirmed it. Steve knew it and yet, now he knew it all over again. Like it wasn't enough they took his mind and made him kill, kill innocents, kill his friend, they also had to toy with the shell that remained. Take everything.

"You need to find him, Tony," Nat said.

"What do you think I'm doing? Do you want me to fly over the US? Oh my god. You do. You want…." Tony got up.

"No, Tony, you need rest," Steve said, because it was true.

Tony raised his hands. "I had worse. J.A.R.V.I.S., didn't I?"

"Seventy-hours without sleep is your record, sir."

"There you go. It's only been like thirty hours."

Steve couldn't find it in himself to insist on Tony's rest. He needed Bucky found.

Nat came to stand in front of him. "You trust me, Rogers?"

"You know I do."

"Then, when we find him, let me talk to him. I know you want to, but don't. It can't be you. Not yet. You know why."

Because Bucky had feelings for him and Steve knowing was worse than anything.

Steve nodded then leaned down, wrapped his arms around her and stayed like that.

*

"Hey."

Steve jumped and went for his shield. Natasha almost punched Sam in the nose, but he managed to duck.

"Did Tony find him?" Steve asked urgently, trying to untangle himself from Natasha. They had fallen asleep on Tony's couch in the workshop.

"No. Tony fell asleep and flew to Brazil." Sam grinned. "It's fine. He's back now."

Steve wasn't sure if Sam was kidding, but that wasn't a priority now. Everyone was in the workshop, gathered around Tony, who was in his Iron Man suit, helmet off, sitting down and talking a mile a minute.

"The seven heads were identified," Sam said. "Their sons are on Bucky's list. One of them is that German guy he'd already killed. So basically, he was right about everything."

That was a small comfort right now. Steve and Natasha hurried to join the group.

"That's nice. I work, you sleep," Tony said. "It's becoming a pattern. I don't like it."

"You should lay off coffee," Natasha told him.

"I should — what? But you sent me— Never mind, no time for arguments. We found Sarge's bad guys. I say we hit them. I mean literally. I feel like punching things. And they have such punchable faces."

Steve could see them on one of the monitors. There was nothing remarkable about them, typical middle-aged businessmen. They did have punchable faces.

"I thought we were waiting," Steve said. "For Bucky to try to reach this information."

"That could take who-knows-how-long and these guys know we're coming. We just killed their zombie-daddies."

Steve didn't like this. Bucky was the priority.

"Look, J.A.R.V.I.S. is here to keep an eye on anyone trying to break in. And this will take time. They're not in some playground together singing kumbaya — sorry, Thor — they're all over the map."

Steve looked around at the team. They all seemed ready to go. Tony was the only one who looked tired and stressed.

"Look, I can stay here," Clint said. "Just in case."

"I should stay," Thor said. "He ran because of me."

"Well, I'm always happy to stay behind," Banner added.

Natasha hadn't been wrong. The mood was sympathetic.

"No, we should all go," Steve said with difficulty. "We have to round them up or we'll lose them. And that won't help Bucky. He's probably not in immediate danger—"

A beeping sound interrupted him.

"Sir, I've located Sergeant Barnes," J.A.R.V.I.S. said.

"You're kidding me right now?" Tony asked, baffled. "Already? How does he break—"

"No, sir. No one broke into my system. Sergeant Barnes' tracker had been activated."

"His—" Tony frowned at the screen. "Sorry, what's happening?"

"A tracker?" Steve said. "What tracker?"

"Er… huh." Tony gave him a sheepish look. "Don't get mad now. I might have put a teeny-weeny tracker in his arm."

Steve wasn't mad. This was good. Well, not from Bucky's perspective, and Steve should have been indignant on his behalf, but right now finding Bucky mattered more.

Natasha was frowning. "If he had a tracker on him this whole time, why didn't you find him sooner?"

"Because. He disabled it. Like, immediately. Clearly he knew I put it in there. But now…. he turned it back on?" Tony tried to type but realized he couldn't with armored hands. "J.A.R.V.I.S., show me the location."

"This is a trap," Steve said. "Someone's got him."

"Hmm, maybe?" Tony cocked his head. "In Milford, Connecticut… That's just so bizarrely random."

Steve froze. But it wasn't random. "We have to go," he said. "Now."

"I'm thinking we have to investigate," Tony said.

"This does look like a trap, Steve. You said it," Sam added.

"And it is. For Bucky. These guys, they know who to blame for their fathers' deaths. Not us, but him. He killed their family; they went after his."

Natasha looked up at him. "He's got family?"

"Sort of." Steve was getting impatient. "J.A.R.V.I.S. get the jet ready for takeoff."

"Yes, Captain."

"And find any FBI reports in the area. Abductions, missing persons."

"Making me access FBI database requires a higher authoriza—"

"Go for it," Tony said quickly.

A moment of silence followed.

"A missing person report was filed four hours ago for Jessica Ridley in Milford," J.A.R.V.I.S. said. "And a James Ridley was abducted in New Haven in broad daylight this morning."

Steve closed his eyes. "Bucky has a nephew. His sister's son. The guy has two grandkids. Teens. I found them, funded their scholarships. Bucky dug it up and asked me about it before the mission. If he's asking for backup, despite everything, that's the only thing that would make him do it. They got those kids, they found them through me, like Bucky did, which means they got Bucky." Or they were about to get Bucky because he was doing something stupid, like going in guns blazing, or making an exchange, him for the kids. It would not end well either way.

At least he had the good sense to alert them beforehand.

"Or it's a trap for you," Clint said. "And they activated the tracker."

"Which still means they got him." Tony got up and put on his helmet. "Let's go."

*

The tracker led them to an old school under reconstruction.

It was an odd location, not secluded. Residential neighborhoods were a few blocks away. This was a hasty plan.

They circled around, high above, and Tony flew down to get a better look.

"So," he said. "In case anyone wondered, it's a trap."

"Can you elaborate?" Steve said with, in his opinion, unbelievable patience.

"Sure can, Cap. They brought an army and some serious firepower. Looks bad even if all of them aren't super soldiers. And we have to assume at least some of them are. Not just the main six. And these guys probably aren't squishy."

"They think they can take us down," Thor said disparagingly.

"Let's not underestimate them," Steve said. "HYDRA soldiers fight to the death. That alone makes them dangerous. Tony, do you see him?"

"I have thermal imaging, not snapshots."

"Extrapolate."

Steve could hear Tony sigh. There was something he didn't want to say. "Two dozen people are concentrated in one of the halls. There are two people sitting on the floor, right in the middle, the kids, I'm guessing, and another one nearby, judging by the position and the struggle… Strapped to a chair. No heat signatures in that person's left arm."

They wanted to wipe him. Turn him back. Undo all of Bucky's struggles in the past few months. Maybe break him forever.

"Okay, we're going in through the roof," Steve said, his voice too calm to his own ears. "Nat, take us down." Steve hit the button that opened up the hangar.

"We'll be surrounded!" Tony was yelling. "We need a better plan! If we jump down, we'll be right in the middle— Wait, I'm getting audio."

Bloodcurdling screams filled the comms.

Steve ran for the exit and jumped.

*

It felt like he was falling forever.

He should have crashed against the roof, but the whole section was already blown off. He hit the floor, shield first, in the midst of what looked and sounded like a war zone. Tony had already set the entire place on fire.

Bucky was still screaming. He was strapped to a chair, the same kind they had found in New York and DC, with heaps of equipment all around it.

"Bucky!" Steve cried, jumping to his side, heedless of the smoke and rapid fire all around him. "How do I— Goddammit." There were tubes and needles in Bucky's right arm; the sleeve of his new outfit was torn up. His head was trapped in some sort of mechanism that buzzed with electricity and was clearly the source of the pain.

With a deafening crash, Thor brought his hammer down on the equipment lined next to the chair. Steve wanted to yell at him, because who knew what that would do, but Bucky had stopped screaming and his body, which was in a sickening spasm until then, went limp. He was breathing, though, drawing great shuddering breaths, eyes closed. "Buck," Steve whispered, trying to concentrate. He had read that horrible manual, memorized its pages; he should know what to do.

There were clasps and buttons to push; Steve searched for them with his fingertips, found them, and pressed. The machinery retreated and Bucky made a small sound of distress. "Bucky?" Steve asked, undoing the straps. There was a mouthguard in Bucky's mouth and Steve gently pulled it out. Bucky's eyes flew open. "Bucky. Do you know me?" Please know me. The procedure should last for hours. They got here so fast. Nat had pushed the Quinjet to its limits. Slowly, Bucky's eyes focused, and then he actually smiled. A full, lips stretched, teeth-showing smile. "Steve? You're really here?"

"Of course I am," Steve said, delirious with relief despite the chaos around them. "Came to get you. Always will."

Bucky was still smiling.

"But it has to be him," a whispered young voice reached Steve's ears. "That's why Captain America is here. C'mon, Jimmy, we've seen pictures."

Steve looked around at two teenagers. Jessica and James Ridley, blue-eyed and dark-haired, Bucky's great-grand niece and nephew. They were still on the floor, huddled together, their wrists bound by zip ties.

Bucky jerked up his head and straightened in the chair. "Steve?" he asked, looking around wildly.

Steve looked too. All around them the Avengers were locked in battle. They had put Steve, Bucky, and the teens in the middle of a circle. It didn't look like winning was at hand.

Urgently, Steve grabbed Bucky's chin and made him look up. "Buck, do you know where you are and what's happening? Can you keep those two safe?"

Bucky blinked and nodded. He was on his feet at once, shaky at first, but he clenched his fists and his body went still. "Go. Help the others," he said, voice steady.

Steve still hated how durable Bucky was, but right now it was a fortunate thing.

With a quick nod, Steve raised his shield, kicked one of the discarded HYDRA weapons towards Bucky, and went into the fray.

*

"Where are they coming from?" Natasha yelled, angry. "It's like they're multiplying."

"Maybe it's magic!" Thor yelled back. "My brother does this trick! Maybe these men are a mere illusion!" He spun his hammer and sent it flying. It knocked down three men in quick succession. "Well, those were real. No. No, stay down! Why do they keep getting up? They all took the serum!"

"Not all," Steve said, grim. He had just punched a guy and slammed him against the wall. He heard his head crack. They couldn't tell who was powered up and who wasn't just by looking and couldn't afford to pull their punches.

They managed to back Bucky and the teens against the wall and keep a half-circle around them. Some kept getting through the ranks, though, thanks to the Hulk, who was as always invaluable but too easily distracted.

Bucky had the teens behind him, the big clunky HYDRA weapon steady in his metal arm. Sometimes the HYDRA soldiers close to Steve dropped to the ground with wide messy holes in their heads.

Just as Steve got swarmed, he heard Bucky yell and one of the teens scream behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw three guys on Bucky, two of them holding his arms back and one of them punching him in the stomach. Bucky had dropped his weapon. Steve couldn't reach them, couldn't disengage.

The kid, Jimmy, stepped on the punching guy's foot and earned himself a gun pointed at his head.

Iron Man flew in like a rocket, smashing into the HYDRA soldiers with a force that sent one guy flying straight in the path of one of Clint's exploding arrows.

Bucky kicked the guy in front of him with both feet and hurled the one behind over his head, using him like a bludgeon, and slammed both attackers to the ground. He snatched the handgun from one of them, but before he could shoot, Iron Man's lasers hit both.

"I had them," Bucky said, annoyed.

"Well, keep them," Tony said and flew at the guys swarming the Hulk.

"I said, don't look!" Bucky snapped at the teens and they hurriedly looked away. One of the guys on the floor groaned and tried to get up, and Bucky shot him in the face.

Things got worse before they got better, but they did get better.

The Hulk smashed the last guy standing through a wall. The silence that followed seemed foreboding to Steve.

"Is it done? Did we win?" Clint asked, jinxing the whole thing.

"You think this matters?" a voice echoed through the building. "You think you've won the war? This was the vanguard, Captain. A taste of what's to come. We have the serum and we will keep using it."

The voice was coming from the old, dusty speakers set high in the corners. Old school, old system, the kind Tony hated. They were self-contained, too ancient to hack. Rudimentary.

Steve looked around. Clint was injured, his arm was bleeding. Nat caught Steve's eye. Steve looked at the speakers and inclined his head. She got it. Whoever was speaking was inside the school, and they knew exactly where. They had seen the schematics. Natasha slipped quietly away, and after a look from Steve and a small shove, Sam followed her.

"Thousands are getting injected with the serum as we speak," the voice continued. "You could never have stopped us, but now our armies will rise. What chance does a handful of you have?"

"You get points for quantity," Steve said. "But I'm not exactly shaking in my boots."

"That's your mistake. You can't stop the tide that will wash over the world."

"Then why not wait for a victory to gloat?" Steve asked. "This is the second fight you've lost. This sounds more like a tantrum." Steve was talking just to talk, but the moment he said this, he realized how right he was. What was this? Why stick around and gloat? If there was an army of super soldiers coming, what more could they want? The only way it made sense for HYDRA to linger after a sound defeat was if this guy was lying. But how could he? They did have the serum. They could use it on all of their followers, couldn't they?

"It's not a tantrum, it's an offer, Captain. Stand down now and there's no need for war. What's one life in exchange for millions?"

One life.

They wanted Bucky. But why? They didn't need him. They had plenty of super soldiers now, stronger ones, more easily maintained. Why would they want Bucky? Revenge for their fathers' deaths? That had been Steve's original conclusion. But the truth was, their precious elders had been locked down in that facility in Pennsylvania. These guys knew they had screwed up and had made something mindless and useless. The Avengers had done them a favor cleaning up their mess.

"I'm happy to exchange six lives," Steve said.

The man snarled and yelled something in Russian.

Bucky's face went blank.

Before Steve could do anything, another Russian phrase had Bucky pointing his handgun at his own head.

"No!" Steve cried, horrified.

"This is the life you'll exchange, Captain!"

"Buck," Steve breathed and took a step closer. The lights of Tony's suit seemed to flicker. The girl, Jennifer, gave a small sob and covered her mouth.

There was no reaching Bucky. There was nothing in his eyes.

"You were too late. We took enough from him. He leaves with us or he dies by his hand," the voice said.

They wanted him so badly. But why?

Steve looked at Bucky's torn sleeve. He could still see the bloody puncture wounds on Bucky's forearm. Steve had pulled tubes out of them without a second thought. He had imagined they gave him drugs, but the tubes were bloody, red fluid flowing, not in but out, into the containers Thor had smashed. Bucky's blood. That was what they were after. There was no great invention on Bjelica's part. He got lucky, used what he had, used Bucky's blood to stabilize Stark's serum. And it worked. And they had a limited supply. There was no army, not without Bucky. This was it. They needed more. They didn't want to kill him.

Steve went still. "Then he dies," he said. "He can't make that choice for himself now, so I'm making it for him. He'd rather die than go back to your hands." Come on, Nat.

"You won't let that happen," the voice growled. "He's your friend. And you know that if you let us take him, you still have a chance to save him. If he dies here, it's done."

"Then it's done," Steve said. And he meant it. They couldn't take him. Steve couldn't do that to Bucky. Not ever.

"You're— NO!" The sounds of struggle spread through the school. Steve didn't take his gaze away from Bucky. "No! STRELYAT, SOLDAT!"

Bucky cocked the gun.

Steve didn't think; he acted. He snatched a gun from Clint's hip, pointed it at his own head, and yelled, "Then we die together, Buck! You and me. Right now. You pull your trigger, I pull mine!"

Tony and Thor were shouting. Clint cursed and pointed his crossbow at Steve, maybe hoping to incapacitate Steve's hand with a well-placed arrow. Steve released the safety catch.

Bucky's eye twitched.

"Steve," Nat pleaded through the comms.

"I'm not letting you die alone," Steve said. "Not again."

Bucky's emotionless mask crumbled. He yelled, cried out as though in agony, arm clenching, body strung up like a bow. With a roar, he pulled the gun away and emptied the clip into the wall. Thor barely ducked away in time.

"What happened?" Natasha screamed.

"We won," Steve said.

Bucky's head was bent, his breath coming in short gasps.

Steve lowered his gun and released the trigger, shaking.

He had almost pulled it.

*

Bucky had a cut on his arm. Tony insisted someone should rip their shirt to bind the wound, but Jessica used her scarf instead.

"We actually have bandages here," Clint said, coming out from the back of the jet with a first aid kit. "Also, I got shot. But whatever."

"Sorry about the gun," Steve said from his seat, right next to Bucky. His hand had a mind of its own and couldn't stop rubbing Bucky's back. Bucky was quiet and didn't complain.

"Yeah, sure," Clint said, ripping out a bandage with his teeth. "That'd be a great trauma for me, by the way. Thanks for that."

"Come on, you big baby," Nat said. "Let me look at that."

The two teens were sitting nearby. "Are you," Jimmy said, "are you really Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes? I mean, you're supposed to… I mean, we're related." He said it as though it was some great revelation. Steve could see Bucky in him, as he was before the war. The kid must be a heartbreaker with that face.

"I know," Bucky said, clearly irritated into speaking.

"I was named after you," Jimmy said, proudly. "Gamma Becky, our great-grandma, talked about you all the time."

"Mostly about how you died heroically," Jessica added.

"Hey, kid," Tony said. "The word is tact. Look it up. You're getting quality education thanks to Cap here, so don't be a dick."

"Tony," Steve said as Jessica's eyes widened.

"I told you it was him," she said, smacking her brother's arm. "The timing was just right."

"I— Thank you, sir," the boy said, with a solemn nod at Steve.

"Yes, thank you, Captain," Jessica added as though to one-up her brother.

Steve nodded, awkward, and their gazes traveled back to Bucky.

"Sergeant Barnes was captured by HYDRA in '45," Steve said, since Bucky wasn't talking. "I didn't know. No one did. He got the serum like me and now here he is."

"The guys who took us said he was one of theirs, the Winter Soldier. We saw him on the news," Jessica said and glanced at Bucky. "But then he came for us and he kept telling them to let us go. Take him instead. I recognized him," she added with a proud look at her brother, who had clearly doubted all her theories.

"Sergeant Barnes is a prisoner of war and an American hero," Tony said.

Bucky's head snapped up.

"What's with the murder-glare?" Tony grumbled. "Which part of what I said is untrue exactly? I'm giving out bare facts here." Tony had planted himself next to Bucky like a big tin guard dog, and no amount of Bucky's frowns and glares could chase him away.

And no amount of brutal killings could make Jimmy and Jessica look doubtful, apparently. Steve didn't know what exactly happened before they got to the school, but whatever it was the kids had clearly made up their minds about Bucky. He was willing to sacrifice himself for them, and they knew it. They couldn't know how much of a sacrifice it had been, though, for Bucky to go back into HYDRA's clutches with only a vague hope that Steve would come for him, despite Steve's abysmal track record.

"I hate being a downer," Clint said, though he loved being a downer, "but shouldn't we be more worried about the promised army of super soldiers? I don't think we were fighting the actual leaders here."

"There's no army," Steve said. "They needed Bucky's blood to make it."

Bucky looked up at him and stared.

"And they're never getting him," Steve added.

"We're here, Captain," Thor's voice echoed through the comms. "According to the readings on this device."

"All right." Steve got up. "Let's get you two home."

*

The Ridley family lived in a nice big house, by Steve's standards, though Maria Hill was not quite impressed by their financial situation. As expected, the place was swarming with police and feds. They didn't react well to the Quinjet, but they breathed a collective sigh of relief when they saw Steve and Tony in full gear.

They didn't seem to register that they had the Winter Soldier in tow.

The kids' parents ran out to hug their children, with many tears and mentions of God. The mother, Alice, was a petite blonde woman with a kind face and strong voice, and the father, James, named after his father, who was named after his uncle, was a straight-back army vet with a wrinkled face but a strong, lean body.

'Dad," Jessica whispered, "that's Sergeant Barnes. Our Sergeant Barnes."

"What?" her dad said. "Don't be ridiculous. Did they hurt your head?" Even as he spoke his gaze traveled to Bucky, but Bucky kept his head low. The man looked at Steve, awed. "Captain Rogers." He saluted.

Steve nodded. "Lieutenant Ridley."

James Ridley stood up straighter.

"The Captain funded our scholarships," Jessica whispered again.

"What?" Mrs. Ridley asked.

"Jessica," Steve said, "I feel compelled to warn you I do have super-hearing."

"I don't and I heard her," Tony said in his Iron Man voice. He must have realized it, and he hurriedly took off his helmet.

"I—" James Ridley looked lost for words.

Steve glanced at Bucky. "This man is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, my friend, and Howling Commando, who was believed dead. He was captured and kept on ice for years. You will hear his whole story soon, once it's published." This was the best Steve could do to spare Bucky more questions. He did wish Bucky would stop hiding behind his hair. It had fallen to his face, and with his shoulders hunched, giving no indication he was alive and not a statue, he honestly looked like something out of a horror story — an old body dragged from beneath the lake to terrorize the locals in the dead of night.

Steve couldn't take it anymore. "Sergeant Barnes," he said in his best Captain voice, and Bucky was compelled to look up on some ingrained, pure instinct.

Lieutenant Ridley gasped. "Sweet Jesus. It can't be." He looked towards the house. "We have—" He didn't finish the thought. "If grandma Becky was alive… You missed her by five years. She loved to talk about you. Always said you looked just like Jimmy here when you were young."

"Did she…" Bucky's voice was gravelly and he cleared his throat. "Did she die peacefully? The report said heart-arrest."

"She did. She was surrounded by family; her heart just gave out. She said she looked forward to joining her husband and seeing you again. Your picture was on her nightstand. She… she had a good life."

Bucky nodded and lowered his head again.

"We'll be in touch," Steve said. Bucky had enough for today. "Your children were taken as bait for Sergeant Barnes. The people who did this, we didn't get them all. But your family is safe. We'll make sure of that."

"The security detail is already dispatched," Tony said and earned himself a glance from Bucky. "They'll be here within the hour."

"Thank you," Mrs. Ridley said, teary-eyed. "All of you."

"Yes, thank you," James added. "Mr. Stark, Captain, Sergeant Barnes."

"It's Bucky," Bucky said.

James smiled. "Thank you, Bucky."

The kids gave them shaky smiles. They had quite a story to tell and had seen too many dead bodies today.

One of the feds ran after them, incredulous, yelling, "Excuse me! Will you tell us what happened?"

"Sure," Tony said and pulled out a card from somewhere. "Call me."

*

Natasha snatched Bucky away the moment they got back to the Tower. Bucky let himself be led. Steve hated it and wanted to help, but he had promised Nat he'd let her take the lead.

"Rhodey called," Tony said as they stepped into the elevator. Bruce and Sam took Clint to get fixed up and Thor had already flown off. "They rounded up the survivors. One head is dead, Nat and Sam got him, one alive, they got another fleeing the country — on a commercial flight, hilarious — three got away."

"We'll get them."

"You sure about Bucky's blood being a stabilizer?"

"It has to be. They were taking his blood, risked a lot for it. Can't their blood be analyzed so we know for sure?"

"Yeah, sure, though, I mean, they still have the serum. The psychotic version — thanks, Dad. They could use that one."

"They've suffered two big defeats this year. They're in shambles. An army they can't control won't help them." Steve sighed. They were on his floor. "You know what my priority is now."

"Yeah, yeah. Fine, I'll find them myself," Tony grumbled as though Steve could realistically help him anyway. Tony held back the elevator door. "You think he's mad at me? You think I should stay away or something? Do you think I'm making him uncomfortable?"

"I don't know," Steve said honestly. "But don't stay away. What's done is done and we need you. I need him to get the pardon and the recognition he deserves. He needs it, too."

Tony shrugged. "Piece of cake. I'm not even worried."

*

"J.A.R.V.I.S.?"

"Sergeant Barnes is still in the shower. There is no need for concern."

Steve sighed. He'd taken off his gear, cleaned up, ate, and even took a nap, dutifully following all of Sam's instructions of taking care of himself.

Bucky had been with Nat forever, and then when he got back, he went straight to his room. And now he'd been showering for half an hour.

Steve needed to see him. He needed to touch him, look him in the eye and know that he would be okay. What if this was too much? What if he'd reached his breaking point at last? Getting back to HYDRA's clutches, his worst nightmare coming true, then being forced to nearly blow his brains out, seeing Steve almost doing the same…

"Sergeant Barnes is now sitting on the bed, Captain."

This was the moment Steve was waiting for. When Bucky seemed to force himself to stop existing. Steve couldn't let him do that.

He got up and went to Bucky's room. He had knocked, but got no answer and expected none.

"Hey," Steve said.

Bucky was in the same position he was when he had first taken off his mask. It took him some time to lift his head and focus on Steve.

"Hey, Steve," Bucky said, voice normal, even a small smile on his face.

Steve forced himself not to ask if he was okay. That would be a stupid question. "Are you hungry? Did you eat?"

"Not hungry. Just tired."

It would be easy to leave now, let Bucky be. Maybe that was what Bucky was hinting at.

Steve just couldn't. He wanted to reach him. He wanted to reach for him. "Can I sleep here?" he asked before he could stop the words from coming. "Tonight? With you?"

Bucky blinked, his surprise obvious. "Yeah, sure," he said.

Steve nodded and got on the bed, took off his shoes, laid down beneath the covers, and in mere moments Bucky was in his arms curled into him, head in the crook of Steve's neck.

Every tiny bit of tension left Steve's body, and he sighed in relief. He shouldn't be doing this, he knew, he shouldn't be rubbing Bucky's back, running fingers through his hair, and definitely shouldn't drop a kiss to the top of Bucky's head and breathe in his scent.

He did all that, though. He needed it. This was his therapy. Just for tonight.

Bucky was still, breathing evenly; Steve thought he had fallen asleep, but then he spoke.

"You know how I said I wanted to hunt down the rest of HYDRA, that it was a priority? I know it's not done, but it is for me. I want to be done. I want to stay here."

"Then it's done and we stay. It's that simple."

"I don't want you to think… less of me."

Steve closed his eyes. "It's the opposite, Buck. I think more of you for wanting to let go."

"I wanted that before." Bucky's voice had gone quiet. "Ever since I remembered you. I wanted to come to you and hide forever. I'm afraid, Steve. So fucking scared they'll get me again."

If Steve's heart survived this, it could survive anything. It hurt Bucky to confess this. Steve knew and understood. He held Bucky tighter.

"But now you know who they have to go through to get to you. Is the Avengers' willingness to lay down their lives to protect you a sign they don't think highly of you or a show of your worth?"

"They did it for you."

"They did it because they know loss and they know fear. We all do. It got better for us, never really okay, but better. It will be for you, too. You're safe here. We got you. I got you."

Bucky pressed even closer as though trying to disappear in Steve. Slowly, his breathing deepened and he fell asleep. Steve didn't even close his eyes. He stayed awake till morning.

*

Bucky stayed because he was afraid of getting captured again, that was a sad fact. He saw it as defeat — being forced to keep his head down, face humiliation because he had no other choice, surrender his dignity and comply again.

That was what Steve had told Natasha, near tears.

"But, Steve," she said, "it doesn't matter if that's what he thinks because we know better. We know it's not like that. Him being here, accepting help, is a victory. He's in a safe place with people invested in helping him restore the dignity he thinks he'd lost. He doesn't see it. He can't. Not yet. Don't expect him to. It takes time."

So that was what Steve was clinging to: time, which had betrayed him once before. But there was no other way.

Natasha made it a habit to abduct Bucky before lunch and bring him back before dinner. Sometimes after dinner, but Steve had complained about that and afterward Bucky always came back to have dinner with him.

J.A.R.V.I.S. had refused to reveal what Nat and Bucky actually did and where they went. All Steve knew was they were somewhere in the Tower because Bucky never went outside.

To Steve, it seemed Bucky always left and came back in a sour mood, but that was before he realized Bucky had two moods: blank and sour. His sour mood meant he was reasonably fine, and the blank mood meant he was letting himself stew and build up energy and anger, which then invariably wanted to be released. He trashed his room only once and almost cried about it, even begged Steve to pay Tony for the damage. Which Steve did much to Tony's amusement.

"You don't have as much money as you think you do, Cap," he told him, but gave him a reasonable bill, which Steve doubled, and Tony still found it hilarious.

After that when things got bad, Bucky would go to the gym and hit one of Tony's specially designed boxing bags until it was reduced to dust, something Steve had never managed because he didn't have a metal arm and didn't go at it for an hour.

Steve had to pay for the bags, too. And gladly. It was a weird kind of compliment to know Bucky was perfectly okay with spending Steve's money. It was always like that. They always shared everything they owned.

Sometimes Nat would invite him to come along, join them in doing whatever it was they did, but he wasn't really sure if she was just being polite, and he was expected to say no. It seemed to him that Bucky needed to spend time with other people, and not have Steve hover over him, so, reluctantly, he always declined.

Nat would usually give him a hug then, so Steve assumed he gave the right reply.

*

Two weeks after Connecticut, Pepper and Tony brought in an army of lawyers and psychiatrists. The two of them, along with Nat and Steve, dealt with the lawyers. They met Bucky only once and he barely said a word during the meeting.

The psychiatrists were trickier. The first two, Bucky rejected, the second two left in a huff after a single session. The fifth one was a wrinkled old lady with a cane and an attitude, and Bucky called her an asshole. He ranted about her for half an hour and Steve picked up his phone to call her off.

"No, it's fine," Bucky said. "I know how to deal with assholes. At least she's not completely stupid."

Steve pocketed his phone, knowing they had found the one.

Three weeks later she gave them the go-ahead to reveal Bucky to the world.

"He'll be fine. He'll handle it," she said. "Just don't overwhelm him and don't let him talk too much. I mean, if you want people to like him."

Steve was happy with that assessment. Being a mouthy asshole was one of Bucky's trademarks. He wasn't like that around Steve these days, and that was worrying, but it was still in him, so that was something.

Tony had promised the whole process would be a piece of cake. And it was, from Bucky's perspective. They never let him know how much work it took. Dealing with various agencies and their demands for interrogations, investigations, and incarcerations, dealing with pushy media and their need to publish scandalous articles, dealing with actual hate mail from individuals and organizations who insisted the Avengers were protecting a war criminal or a Russian spy who had plastic surgery or one of Stark's robots they meant to use on their path to world domination.

None of it ever touched Bucky. All his meetings were prearranged and timed, kept short, held in the Tower, done with a team of people in his corner, ready to talk when he couldn't. J.A.R.V.I.S. wouldn't even let him Google anything relating to the issue, though they were informed that Bucky had never even tried it.

They didn't lie to him. They told him there were some bad reactions, but they also told him not to worry about it, so he didn't.

There were positive reactions, too. Many of them. People who were horrified by what was done to him. People who grew up with the stories and the comics and the legend of a tragic ending of one of the Howling Commandos. There were people who were happy for Steve, gushing about him getting his best friend back, fawning about every new photograph of the two of them together. There were those who insisted Steve was clearly in love. It was never the other way around, likely because Bucky just looked blank in every picture and Steve… He saw it. He understood. His gaze was on Bucky in every single photograph. "I wish someone would look at me the way the Captain is looking at the Sarge," the comments said.

Steve stopped Googling after that.

*

Bucky got along with the other Avengers reasonably well.

Steve wasn't sure that having all of them trying to help and spending time with Bucky was a good idea.

"He'll think it's pity," Steve told Nat. "Or that they're doing it for me." Bucky had said as much.

"Well, partly it is pity," she said. "Partly it is for you. But again, we know better. He'll charm them all to death in no time."

She wasn't wrong. That had always been Bucky's talent. He was always the heart of the party, with everyone trying to get his attention. This was a different Bucky, but didn't he already have Steve, Nat and Tony wrapped around his little finger? He just didn't know it yet.

In the end, it didn't really matter what Steve thought because he couldn't hide Bucky from them and they all made it a point to show interest and kindness.

Bruce's general nervousness clearly rubbed Bucky the wrong way, but Bruce was used to strange reactions from people and he took it in stride. In time Bucky got used to him and appreciated Bruce's intelligence and common sense.

Clint was the kind of person who could talk for hours on any subject and seldom required a response. That worked well for Bucky.

Sam insisted on responses. Waited them out, all big eyes and expectation, able to hold that expression easily for long moments. Bucky hated that. But Sam still managed to drag out actual sentences from Bucky and that was always a victory.

Thor was easy to talk to about everything and nothing. Bucky had apologized to him because it turned out he did shoot him in a moment of blind panic.

Thor had just laughed. "My brother has tried to kill me many times. With more fearsome weapons and no excuse."

After that Thor let Bucky try to lift his hammer, which Bucky couldn't, much to his annoyance. But then the rest of them tried and no one could do it. Bucky's mood improved with each failure. Steve tried, too, and felt the hammer move, then panicked, relaxed his hands, and shrugged sheepishly. Everyone seemed pleased except Bucky and Natasha, who gave him matching narrowed-eyed looks.

Natasha was easily Bucky's favorite. Whatever hangups and doubts he had about her, they were obviously forgotten. She always spoke to him quietly, sometimes in Russian, always gentle when they thought no one was looking. She'd run her fingers through his hair and gave him soft looks that made Steve feel like he was intruding when he noticed.

Steve learned that Bucky didn't like hairdryers. Didn't like to hold them and point them at his head as it reminded him of all the times he had pointed a gun to his head and couldn't pull the trigger. It had wrecked Steve when Bucky had told him that.

It was fine, though, if someone else was wielding it. Someone else was always Natasha.

Once, when they were training, Natasha already sweaty and Steve just getting warmed up, she said, "He told me he likes being touched without having to anticipate pain."

She said it so casually, shrugging, as though it wasn't the most heart-breaking thing anyone was ever forced to hear.

Steve tried it once, in broad daylight, during breakfast, when he got up to fetch the salt.

He gripped Bucky's shoulder, lightly, in passing, but gentle and lingering, hand moving towards Bucky's back.

The look that Bucky gave him was so hopeful Steve knew he could never do it again. He was no good for Bucky. Not like that.

The worst part was Tony got to touch Bucky.

At first, Bucky always bent his head and hid behind his hair every time Tony was around. Natasha had told him who knew how much and he was aware only Tony had seen the recording.

A seething anger settled deep in Steve's bones at the thought that Bucky felt ashamed for what was done to him. Steve begged Natasha to tell him how to talk to Bucky about it, how to make him see he had nothing to be ashamed of.

She smiled and said, "That's what therapy's for. You're doing fine. Just keep it up."

"What am I doing exactly?" Steve asked, genuine.

She snorted and left.

Steve felt like even Tony was doing a better job.

Tony was very smart in his approach and used his greatest resource — Pepper. She must have known more about what Tony had seen, more than any of them. Steve could tell by the way her eyes went bright and her voice lower when she addressed Bucky.

She called him sweetheart, which sounded natural rather than condescending coming from her, and talked to him about the work he'd put in when trying to figure out who the seven heads were. It was a good subject; Bucky was clearly proud of it. He hadn't known much about any of it going in, and had to teach himself and figure it out all on his own. It was knowledge that wasn't forced upon him.

He drank up Pepper's clarifications and explanations like a sponge. J.A.R.V.I.S. had reduced Bucky's list to thirty, and Pepper and Bucky reduced it to seven. Altogether, they had substantial evidence to dismantle the entire organization from the top, including the HYDRA allies on the larger list who might not have been leaders but were clearly involved.

In the moments when Bucky and Pepper were close to solving a problem, overstuffed with candy bars, in Bucky's case, and coffee, in Pepper's, Tony would show up to help.

It was hard for Bucky to stay withdrawn when there was a breakthrough at hand. They effectively tricked him into interacting with Tony, which Bucky must have been aware of, but the work they did was too important to him, a way for him to still help, and Steve suspected that the sheer amount of effort Tony and Pepper put into making Bucky feel at ease had broken through the fearful embarrassment Bucky clearly felt when Tony was nearby.

Two months in, when everyone wanted to interrogate Bucky, they'd brief him about it, and the only response he had was to look at Tony and ask, "Will you be there?"

And Tony was always there. He had his special little consultant card, all legal and legit, and he was always a part of the legal team surrounding Bucky. Defensive sarcastic retorts at the ready, Iron Man suit in his reach.

Eventually, Tony even designed a special kind of hairdryer for Bucky, one with a flat wide head and a round handle that made it look nothing like a gun. It emitted blue twinkling light and quiet puffs of hot air. It was ridiculous. Bucky actually used it.

In time, Bucky started hanging out in Tony's workshop, helping with the heavy lifting and the mechanical stuff. He was even allowed to use the computers. Sometimes, they'd all meet there to discuss an upcoming mission, and when Tony got sick of them and yelled, "All right, everyone out! I can't work like this!" somehow it became normal for all of them to leave and for Bucky to stick around because "everyone out" just never applied to him and "I want to be alone" meant "Bucky can stay."

Tony didn't even have a mean nickname for Bucky. He was always Sarge. And when Bucky asked him to call him Bucky, then he was Bucky. Not even Buckster or Buckaroo, but Bucky.

Tony barely even made jokes at Bucky's expense. And sometimes, he would squeeze Bucky's shoulder or pat his back in a way that made Steve think he, too, knew Bucky liked being touched without having to anticipate pain.

One time Steve caught Tony trying to sneak away from the kitchen with a midnight snack. Steve meant to do the same. They were special snacks, made by Bruce, not something one could just buy somewhere.

"Did you ever talk about the recording?" Steve asked because it was dark enough to safely talk about it.

"Well, yeah, I guess," Tony said, lingering behind the counter and pouring himself a glass of milk. "I mean, he asked whether I've destroyed it, and I said I did, because I did. And he asked if I've seen the whole thing, and I said I didn't because I didn't. And then he said a bunch of things that finally put me in therapy. It's fine." Tony waved his hand. "It's all fine. Therapists can prescribe the best drugs. Legally. So, it's cool." He took a sip of milk, grimaced, and poured it into the sink. "Why do people say warm milk helps you sleep? It's so disgusting."

"He talks to you, then?" Steve asked, trying not to be jealous.

"No. He rarely talks. That's why I like him." He shrugged. "It's better when he doesn't. He says stupid shit like saying I'm good and kind, and he's the monster who killed my parents."

"You are, though. Good and kind," Steve said. "The kindest man I've ever met."

"Aw, what the hell? Jesus Christ." Tony set down his glass with force. "What's with you guys and the heart-to-heart? Was there something in the water back in the forties? Leave me the fuck alone." He left in a huff.

Steve stayed, smiling.

*

Steve did get to touch Bucky under particular circumstances, in the dead of night when J.A.R.V.I.S. would wake him up and say, "Sergeant Barnes needs your assistance, Captain."

Steve would run to Bucky's room and find him shivering and sweaty, arms clenched into fists.

On those nights, Steve would sleep in Bucky's bed, arms wrapped tightly around Bucky's back, and Bucky would cling to him with a force that would crush a frail man's bones.

That didn't count, though, because it only happened in the dark when Bucky was particularly vulnerable.

And it only happened sometimes, then rarely, and eventually it stopped.

*

Bucky refused to go running in the mornings with Steve, refused to go to the diner and get breakfast, refused to go shopping for new clothes. The last thing Steve wanted to do was push him, but he did occasionally make new suggestions, hoping to tempt him.

What finally worked was an invitation for lunch with the Ridley family. Steve had spoken to James Ridley on the phone a couple of times after Bucky's story went public, and the man wanted Bucky to meet James's father, Bucky's actual nephew who was still alive but old and frail and honestly running out of time, and he wanted to meet his uncle, someone he had heard so much about from his mother.

The first time Steve had mentioned it, Bucky had shaken his head and didn't want to hear more. "I'm just a stranger to them," he had said. "They're just being polite or whatever. Probably because of your scholarships."

Steve had tried to reason with him, had pointed out that Bucky was clearly a family legend they cared about. All the males were given Bucky's name and both his nephew and grand-nephew served in the army. Bucky was a figure in their lives that mattered and which they were proud of. Not to mention Bucky had risked his life to save Jessica and Jimmy, and now after they had found out the whole story they knew exactly how much of a risk and sacrifice it had been.

"But they were only in danger because of me," Bucky had said.

"That wasn't your fault," Steve had argued. "And it doesn't diminish what you did."

"They're better off not knowing me," Bucky had said and went to his room.

Steve waited for two months before he mentioned it again. They were in the middle of breakfast when he casually brought it up.

Bucky frowned. "They're still going on about that?"

"It's just a Sunday lunch," Steve said lightly. "Your nephew would be there. Tell you some stories, show you some old photos." Steve saved the most tantalizing part for last. "Apparently he has some of your old things."

Bucky's eyes lit up at that. "Like what?"

"I don't really know," Steve lied. James Ridley told him that in addition to two old photographs of Bucky and his family, they had some of Bucky's old books, and a pocket watch — an old broken piece which was recently restored and hung above their mantelpiece together with Bucky's medals, awarded to him posthumously and shipped to his parents.

"But you know," Steve said, "whatever it is, they could have made a fortune on that stuff if they wanted to."

Bucky stared at him. "How? I didn't own anything of value."

"From private collectors. It's valuable memorabilia. They could have auctioned it."

"Collectors? Collecting my stuff? I mean..." He shook his head. Lately when he did that his long hair would swish around and fall perfectly back into place. Result of a new haircut, some product, and Natasha's hair care. Steve wondered why Bucky kept his hair long. He no longer hid behind it as much these days. "I can understand they'd want your stuff. Like your sketchbooks. Those were nice. Do you still sketch? I never see you do it."

"Sometimes," Steve said vaguely. He did still sketch, but there were too many sketches of Bucky in his sketchbooks. Steve didn't want to show them to anyone, especially Bucky, who might get the wrong idea. "But the thing is people want all of that stuff. It's a pretty big deal. Not just the things that actually happened, but there were comics and films and merchandise. Captain America and the Howling Commandos. You were a very prominent character, the most tragic one. Your plushie sold like crazy. The actual stuff you owned? People would go wild for it."

"My… plushie?" Bucky definitely seemed weirded out.

"Did no one seriously tell you about Bucky Bears?" Steve had thought Natasha would, surely. Or Clint. "Did you not Google it?"

Bucky continued to stare, so Steve shook his head, got up, and went to his room. He brought back a little bear he bought days after he had heard they existed and paid a pretty penny for it as they didn't actually make them anymore.

He set it on the table in front of Bucky and carefully memorized Bucky's expression. He would have to draw it later.

"How is…" Bucky touched the label that proclaimed it a Bucky Bear. "How is that me?"

"Well, it has your uniform. And your blue eyes. It was pretty popular, you know. Mine has a helmet, so… that's kind of a particular look, but yours is just cute."

"Um. Why is his left arm wrapped in duct tape?"

"Uh, yeah. That was… I did that. To make it look more like you. As you are now." That was probably strange. Steve wasn't sure how Bucky would feel about that.

Bucky touched the bear's little wrapped arm, looked up at Steve, and burst out laughing.

It was incredible. Steve could barely make Bucky smile. This was a full-blown laugh, tears in his eyes, face getting red.

"Does this mean you don't want to see his little leather outfit?" Steve joked, just as Bucky got ahold of himself, and this only set him off again.

When he finally managed to breathe, he glanced at Steve's bedroom door. "Where do you keep it? I was in there; I didn't see it."

"The bathroom," Steve lied.

"Jerk." Bucky picked up the bear and smacked him with it, still laughing.

"Hey, easy." Steve took the bear away. "You'll unstick the duct tape."

Bucky couldn't seem to get rid of his smile. The smile Steve knew so well and was deprived of for so long.

"I want one," Bucky said. "The Captain America bear."

"Sure. We can get it." Those were easy to find.

"I want some duct tape, too. To put it over his mouth."

"Hilarious." Steve hated breaking the moment, but he took a risk. "I know just the place. We can get it on our way back from the Ridleys."

Bucky's expression clouded.

"It's an Avengers fan shop. Exclusively."

Oh, Bucky wanted to see it. Steve could tell by the way he was biting his lip.

"All right, then," he said. "But I want to get it before lunch. I want it waiting in the car for me."

That was just Bucky wanting to get the last word in. Steve smiled. "Deal."

*

The lunch had the potential of turning into a disaster.

The day started out well. Bucky seemed to enjoy the long drive, he was even animated, talking a lot, a lot for this new Bucky, at least, about the music they listened to, about the insane fan shop with Avengers merchandise, and the way they had baffled the cashier. It had been the best two hours of Steve's new life.

But the moment they had stepped into the Ridleys' house, Bucky had hid behind his hair and had barely spoken two words together. It was an agonizing hour where everyone tried to engage Bucky in conversation, and Bucky just sank further into his chair.

Steve wished he could tell them to stop, but that would have been rude. It wasn't their fault, it wasn't Bucky's, it was Steve's. This was his blunder.

The only person who seemed unbothered was Bucky's nephew, a tiny wrinkled old man with a kind face and a patchy memory. That didn't stop him from occasionally telling stories about his mother. Steve hoped Bucky was at least listening.

The elder James' stories drifted further into the past and eventually he remembered how, according to Rebecca Barnes, one time she and her brother were supposed to go to the movies together, but then someone set fire to it and did terrible damage to the left side of the building. Bucky joined the crew of volunteers that helped restore it.

Steve did not remember that.

Bucky snorted, surprising everyone. "That… that didn't happen," he said. "I just wanted to go out with my girlfriend and Becky kept crying and wanted to come with me. I made it up to get rid of her. It gave me a great excuse for weeks. Mom was just glad we weren't fighting."

"Ah, that makes more sense," his nephew said, eyes narrowing.

His mind was definitely still sharp enough because from that moment on he kept telling stories about Bucky and Becky's adventures that were — Steve was sure — deliberately wrong.

And Bucky, once he began, couldn't seem to stop himself from correcting him, eventually showing hints of his undisputed talent, which Steve loved and wished he possessed, of making a story about nothing into a hilarious anecdote.

By the time they brought out Bucky's things for him to see, the atmosphere was pleasant enough. They meant for Bucky to take it all, but he only accepted the photographs.

"Those medals are yours, Sergeant," his grand-nephew told him.

"They look nice where they are," Bucky said and smiled.

His old nephew pulled him aside, though, and gave him a set of books. "You have to take these," he said with a giggle. "Can't have the kids see them."

For a moment Steve was afraid it was some sort of pornography, but it was just more sci-fi books. The old man's comment made no sense to Steve, but Bucky took them with a grin.

Jimmy gave Bucky a bunch of Captain America comics, with a warning he would have to give them back because they were first editions and Jimmy's pride and joy. Bucky had accepted them with a smile and solemnly promised to return them.

Jessica shyly asked them both to sign her mockup of the Captain America shield. She also told them she had a Bucky Bear but it had fallen apart years ago.

Bucky's face went blank for a moment, likely because of her phrasing, and Steve was getting ready for more awkwardness, but Bucky's expression cleared and he happily told them Steve had one and had duct taped its arm to make it look like it was made of metal.

A moment of silence followed, but then Jessica laughed and everyone joined in.

By the time they got back into the car, Bucky looked exhausted, but not drawn or moody and Steve took it as a win. He pretended not to notice Bucky was clutching his Captain America bear rather tightly.

"What's up with the books your nephew gave you?" Steve asked.

"Hmm?" Bucky turned to look at him with a frown. "Oh." He grinned devilishly, making Steve's breath catch in his throat, and then squirmed and twisted to fetch one of them from the backseat. "My book," he said, displaying the cover with a robot and a muscular man fighting it off. He leafed through it. "Steve Rogers' puberty woes." He held up a drawing on the last page.

"Oh." Steve laughed, remembering. "Forgot I did those."

"Did you now?" Bucky examined the drawing, head cocked. "You tried to draw a dirty drawing on everything I owned."

"I did, yeah."

"Got me in trouble, you know. Girls loved books. Well, not these books, but still it was a book. I was, like, a cultured man, reading books. And I showed them these and what did they find?"

Steve laughed again, pleased with himself.

"They'd call me a dirty-minded rascal."

"You liked my dirty drawings," Steve said confidently.

"Yes, because they were hilariously undoable, FYI."

That they were. "Well, I had no point of reference."

Bucky did, though. All those girls… Was Bucky faking it, then? Overcompensating? If he wanted Steve all along… Or…

No. Steve was still not thinking about it. Not analyzing.

Bucky was silent for a long time. Then, he said, "We could go running tomorrow."

"Sure," Steve said.

*

They had a routine for a while. The mornings were theirs. They'd go on a run and have breakfast together. And the evenings were theirs. They'd have dinner and then watch a movie or read something in each other's presence. On weekends they'd go for a walk, sometimes Brooklyn, sometimes other places; it didn't really matter. Sometimes they drove up to Connecticut for a barbecue or some school event of Jessica's.

Steve didn't realize how happy he was until every piece of that happiness was slowly taken away.

Bucky would skip their morning runs and go training with Clint, he'd trade in their weekend outings for trips with Natasha, he'd spend long hours in Tony's workshop, working on robots or computers or whatever it was they did. Often, he'd get back to his room in the wee hours of the morning.

Eventually, he drove up to Connecticut by himself. Of course, fully aware that one of Tony's legionnaires was flying overhead there and back, but it was still monumental.

Steve should have been happy for him. Proud. Relieved. And he was. But he saw his own face in the mirror and couldn't find that soft-eyed pride he saw in Tony's and Natasha's eyes. He saw hurt. Not because Bucky didn't need him anymore, didn't need his money because he got his own backpay, didn't need Steve's protection because he was no longer so afraid, didn't depend on Steve to talk for him, didn't depend on him to be his window to the world. These were all good things.

The problem was Bucky seemed to no longer want Steve's company. Steve tried to convince himself for a month that he was imagining things. Being a bad friend. But then he analyzed the situation. He didn't need a computer to compute. There were days when they barely saw each other. There were days when they didn't see each other. Bucky spent more time with Clint than Steve, and Clint didn't even live in the Tower.

These were just facts.

And Steve was finally forced to think about the thing he didn't want to think about. He knew this would happen. Deep down he knew. He wished he could put those words back into Bucky's mouth and have him never confess how he felt about Steve. Sooner or later, it had to come between them, had to ruin their friendship. He knew it.

Bucky was moving on. Untangling himself from Steve. Because his feelings made something uncomplicated into something too complicated for him to deal with.

Steve understood that. He also had complicated feelings.

When Bucky sat him down one afternoon and said he wanted to talk, Steve knew what he would say.

Bucky was moving out. Not out of the Tower, he wasn't ready for that. No, he'd just move to another apartment on another floor. Which meant Steve would have to move out because Bucky was the only reason he was staying here. He would have to move on, too.

Steve knew this was coming. He wasn't ready for it, but he knew and he knew he had to face it. Withstand. Bucky was well and he was alive in this world and that would just have to be enough. It was still more than Steve thought he could ever have.

So he said, "Sure, Buck," and sat down on the sofa. "What's up?" he asked and forced a smile.

Bucky sat on the armrest of the armchair across, looking guilty and nervous. It made Steve feel guilty, too. All he could do was listen and tell Bucky it was okay. He owed Bucky that and more.

"Right. Um." Bucky frowned. "I don't want to, like, alarm you or anything, it's just… I had these conversations with people. My therapist, obviously, and other people. And there's this recurring theme…" He bent his head, hid behind his hair. He hadn't done that in a while. "Yeah. Let me try this again. I think it would be good for me to… to move on."

Yeah. There it was.

"I mean…" Bucky sighed. "I know you don't want to talk about this, and I'm sorry, but I just need to… See, I just want to ask you a question. It's just a question. It's not… You don't have to explain or something. Just say, 'Oh, no, sorry, Buck' because it's that simple. I mean, I know that's what you'll say, and it's okay. But it's, like, 99% of me knows it, and this one little percent…" He tapped his head. "There's this stupid little hope in my brain that won't go away. And I need to get rid of it. So I could move on. I just need you to… I realize you've already… I just need to hear it. Do you get that?"

Steve wasn't entirely sure he did.

It must have shown on his face because Bucky said, "Sorry. I am. Please, just make it simple. I'm making it simple. I'm giving you the line. You just need to say it and I need to hear it."

"The line?"

"No, sorry, Buck. That's the line. I just need you to not say more than that. You don't have to. I get it. I swear." He blew out a breath, ran his fingers through his hair. "So, I ask the question and you're gonna say it and that's it, okay?"

"Okay," Steve repeated because that was expected of him.

"Okay." Bucky nodded, but it took him a long moment to ask, his gaze fixed on Steve. "Is there any chance for the two of us to get together? Ever? And I mean, together. As a couple."

Of course that was the question. Steve had vaguely guessed it. But the phrasing of it… It was just. Any chance? Ever?

Bucky's eye twitched. "Steve, c'mon. I gave you the line."

The line. No, sorry, Buck. No chance. Not ever.

That was just so definite. Like an ending Steve wasn't prepared for. Finality that was terrifying.

"Steve, please." Bucky honestly looked desperate. "I gave you... I gave you the line. You don't have to explain. You don't explain. Please don't. Just say it."

But Steve couldn't. He just couldn't open his mouth and let it past his lips. If it did, then… Then there was no chance, ever. Then they wouldn't be together and Bucky would move on. The end.

Bucky would never sleep in his arms again. Never.

Steve could never run his fingers through his hair. Never.

He would never kiss him. Never.

"Steve."

God. The pleading in Bucky's voice. Steve was hurting him.

"I'm sorry."

Bucky closed his eyes. "Steve…"

"Can I…" Steve tried to make his throat work. "Can you give me a few days to think?"

Bucky's eyes flew open. "What?"

"Can I think on it? For a few days?"

"Think," Bucky said blankly. "You want to… Steve, you either know or… or… "

"I can't say the line, Buck," Steve said. "I can't. Because I don't know if it's true."

Bucky seemed unable to speak.

"I'm sorry," Steve said. "I know it's the worst thing I can say. I know it's not good enough. It's all I got right now. I just need… a few days."

"A few days. Steve, you had months." Bucky was getting angry now. He realized it, took a breath. "Sorry. That's not fair, is it? I dumped that on you that first night here, and I— I don't even know why. It seemed important to tell the truth. And now you… You thought I was confused, didn't you? You didn't think… God, this is like me telling you for the first time, isn't it? Shit, Steve. I'm sorry. It's just so obvious to me, it's my reality. It wasn't confusion. I wasn't rambling. I thought you understood."

"I understood. You have nothing to apologize for. You're right. I had months. But now I know I have a deadline and… and it can't be now. I can't—" There was panic bubbling in his chest.

"Okay," Bucky said. "Okay. A few days, sure. Why not? If that's… I just, I have to say, I don't get it. I mean, you either feel the way I do or you don't. And you basically said you don't. You said you could never give me what I want. You said it. And I realize it should have been enough, but sometimes you just… you act like, the way you…" Bucky's gaze bore into him so intently his face was twisted with it.

The way what? The way Steve looked at him? The way he yearned for him when he wasn't close? And even when he was. When he was right here. Steve could feel it now. The need.

"That's what I need to think about," Steve said.

"Right. Right." Bucky jumped down from the armrest and walked over, sat next to Steve and faced him. "Can I help with that? Because, Steve, I'm worried I know what this is about. And it's horrifying. Do you think you're obligated to give me what I want? Do you think I'll abandon you if you don't? Stop being your friend?"

"You have been avoiding me," Steve said because it was true.

"Jesus." Bucky rubbed his face. He hadn't looked so miserable in a long time now. "Steve, that's not… Look, I do need to move on. Everyone thinks that. I think that. I need it for me. And you. I need a break; I need space to do it. I want to. I can't just spend my life… I need time to come to terms. So that I can be that friend you want. That hasn't changed, that will never change. You and me, Steve, that's a done deal. You know that. But right now we want different things from…" He waved his hand between them. "That doesn't mean you should force yourself into something. God, you absolute idiot. That's the worst thing you could do. I'm the one who should get over it. It's my problem. And I want a solution. I want to deal with it and move on. Not move on from you, but come back to you, to us. Don't you get it? And I can't do that in days, I need longer. That's what I need you to give me. The only thing. That's what you have to give me. As a friend."

That made sense. That was actually comforting. Bucky was right, him and Steve, that was a done deal. Steve should never have doubted it. Bucky was being reasonable and Steve was being a bad friend.

"Okay," Steve said. "I— you're right. I get it. Now. I do." He did. This wasn't the end of anything. It was just… more time to push through, to withstand, and then things could go back to the way they were.

Bucky's shoulders sagged. He actually smiled. "Okay. God. Okay." He looked relieved. "It's gonna be okay, Steve. We'll be okay. I promise."

The afternoon sun glinted from his metal arm, brought light into his eyes. His smile crinkled up his face into lines Steve knew so well. He'd drawn them so many times. God, he loved that face. His eyes, his nose, his jaw, his lips, that dark, serious gaze.

"I still need a few days," Steve said. "To give you an answer."

That froze the smile on Bucky's face. Made his eyes widen, search through Steve's. He must have found something in Steve's expression that made him say, "Okay. If you can give me time, then I can give you a few days. I won't…" He frowned, his voice growing even more serious. "I won't get hung up on it or something. I swear. There are no expectations you have to meet. Just, do your thing. Work through whatever you have to. It's okay. Just a few days. That's fine."

"Okay," Steve said, and after a few more awkward moments, Bucky got up and walked to his room.

Chapter Text

What was it like? Being in a relationship? Steve wondered as he went through his sketchbook, his drawings of Bucky, as he was then and as he was now. He looked at that old photograph too, the one Tony had given him. He had never shown it to Bucky. He wasn't sure why. It was his, hidden, like the sketches.

Didn't a relationship mean you want to spend all your time with the person you love? That you could do nothing but exist in their presence and be content? That making them smile was always on your list of priorities, the very highest spot? That their happiness ensured your happiness? That having their warmth beside you meant that you can draw steady breaths and put your heart at ease because the world could be a quiet place that let you rest?

That was Bucky. That was them together. For Steve, always.

But there was more to it, of course.

Steve had never been in a relationship. He'd been busy. First trying not to cough out his lungs, then with war and with pining for Peggy. Always pining, never doing anything about it. And then this new world, with its aliens and robots and his best friend coming back to life.

There was also sex. Kissing and intimacy and intercourse. Things other people did. Normal things that were never a part of Steve's normalcy. Some fumblings with the USO girls that had made him feel strange and guilty. Back then, he was still testing out this new body that didn't yet feel his. Sex was always a part of Bucky's normalcy. Before. But what about now? When his body had been horrifically used by men? Was it a terrifying thought for him? Did he talk about it with his therapist? He must have. Nat, even? Tony? But Bucky knew he could trust Steve to never hurt him. Because that was unthinkable.

It would be… gentle between them. Passionate. Desperate.

What made his brain shrivel up when he thought about it?

Steve's sick body and clammy skin never bothered Bucky; he gave his hugs freely. Steve was grateful for it, but that was just comfort. No time for gentle touches in the war, just a grim look, and a pat. There were men who did more than that with each other. Steve knew. Everyone knew. It was a point of hilarity or passing ridicule. Nothing too vicious, not from Steve's team. Not in front of Steve. He had no patience for bullies, everyone knew that. There was their side and the other side. Those on their side were one of them, nothing else mattered, not to Steve.

But it wasn't an option. That was ingrained in Steve. Just, not an option. No need to even wonder. Which is why he hadn't.

And now it was an option. And not just that — there was an offer. Steve could just… take it.

Get what he wanted: Bucky, with him always, and some parts he wasn't sure about. Parts that seemed impossible and terrifying. Like sex. He owed it to Bucky to be sure, though.

If he could only make his brain open up to possibilities. Make it think, imagine, without shying away.

If he could only make his hands draw it. That always made him see clearest.

Steve put his sketchbook away.

*

"Do you think I'm emotionally repressed?"

"Well, hello to you too," Sam said, laughter in his voice.

"Sorry." Steve took the phone in his hand from between his cheek and shoulder where it had been trapped while he balanced the laptop on his knees. "It's just something people said on the internet."

"Steve. We talked about this. Not you being emotionally repressed, but the internet. Just don't look. Never look. It's not good for you."

"So you agree? You think I'm emotionally repressed?"

"No. I think you're a soldier and a Captain, which demands a certain level of stoicism. Plus, I don't think you're repressing, I think you're suppressing."

"You mean deliberately?"

"Well, yeah. You know, people like to push things they don't want to deal with into little boxes they label with later. But the later doesn't come, the box is overflowing, it's a mess. Hard to deal with all at once when you finally open it."

This was suspicious. Sam knew something. "Did you talk to Bucky?"

"No," Sam said, too quickly. Then he sighed. "I talked to Nat. She's worried about you."

"What did she say?" Steve wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Are you aware it's 6:30 in the morning?"

"You get up early."

"Yeah, but I didn't have my coffee yet."

"I'm not holding your hands hostage. Just your ear. Use headphones."

"You really are a punk," Sam said.

"What did she say?" Steve asked again.

"That you're emotionally repressed. Except she didn't say emotionally."

"Yeah. Neither did the internet." It said sexually repressed. Which was unfair from a person on the internet who had never met him. Fair from Nat, though. "So. What if I am?"

"Uh. Then I guess you have to open that box. See what's at the bottom."

"But that could be too messy. You said."

"No way around it, though. It's your mess, you gotta clean it up." He sighed again. "Look, Steve, I'm gonna tell you this because I'm more than a thousand miles away and you can't fly and I can. I honestly can't tell if you're madly in love with Bucky and have some serious hangups about being gay or you see him as just a friend and him being in love with you feels like a betrayal, which you don't want to admit. You asking for a few days to think it over makes me think it's the former. And if you're actually angry I can't imagine you being so vicious as to give Bucky hope only to crush it again. Unless you're doing it unconsciously. In which case I'm pointing it out now, so you'd be aware of the possible outcome."

"Is that what Bucky thinks? That I'm trying to unconsciously hurt him?"

"No. Also, that's not what I said. I didn't say you were trying to do it. That word unconsciously, there's the emphasis. He thinks you feel guilty and sad for him enough to talk yourself into making a sacrifice, which… Nat told him, and I agree, you're just not that stupid. I prefer my 'feeling betrayed and unconsciously lashing out' theory to that."

"I'm not that stupid," Steve said firmly. "I'm not trying to sacrifice myself. I don't feel betrayed. Maybe I did when he first told me. But honestly, I don't know what I'd do or say if he had told me back then. Probably nothing. Maybe say, 'No, sorry, Buck,' and shake it off."

"Well, that leaves me with one valid theory, then, doesn't it?"

Steve was silent for a few moments. "I guess I better open that box, huh?"

"That'd be a good thing. Either way."

"I would appreciate it if you guys spent less time theorizing about me."

"Sorry. But you and Bucky have overlapping support systems. Just how it is. Not ideal, but at least you know you have them, right?"

"I know. Thanks, Sam."

*

What Steve hadn't anticipated was Bucky changing his patterns. Suddenly, he was around all the time.

He said he took cooking classes, which Steve had no idea about, and he wanted to try it out for real, make lunches and dinners.

"I can't exactly live here forever," Bucky said. "And apparently takeout isn't healthy. Plus, everyone should learn how to take care of themselves, like an adult."

That sounded like some of Sam's wisdom. He tried it on Steve, too. But no one wanted to eat what Steve made, especially Steve.

Bucky was much better at it. Steve even helped. He was excellent at chopping things. They both were.

While he cooked, Bucky would keep his hair tied, which was another new look. He was also clean-shaven these last few months and this hairstyle seemed to emphasize it, make him look younger.

Steve realized he'd been so isolated from Bucky he hadn't really noticed these changes. Often Bucky didn't really look like the Bucky Steve knew, though sometimes he was exactly the same. The same could be said about his personality. He was a blend of Bucky and the Winter Soldier. There was a seriousness in his expression, definition in his jaw, a tightness in his shoulders that never went away. Words didn't come as easily to him, or rather he weighed them out more carefully before speaking. He had a lot of opinions about politics, the inner workings of it all, all the ways one could climb up the ladder. He was quick to find evidence on his phone whenever he needed to back up his theory. And there was a fluidness to his movements, precision and grace that was never there before even though Bucky had always been good with his hands, quick to fix up anything that needed fixing.

The exception was his metal arm, which was a hammer and a fist, and Bucky could not make it graceful.

He was also quicker to get angry or turn moody and silent. These were Steve's moments to shine, to pull him out of it with a joke and a smile, or a handy Captain America line, which always made Bucky's lips curl in amusement.

These last three days Bucky spent his time sneaking looks at Steve and desperately searching for new topics to talk about.

Steve didn't know if Sam had related his conversation with Steve to Bucky or Natasha. He must have. Or Bucky wouldn't be here trying to convince him of anything. At least not this awkwardly. And that seemed to be what he was doing. Turing these moments into… dates? Trying to impress and entertain? Trying to show Steve how good they could have it together? It wasn't necessary. Steve knew that. Spending time with Bucky was never a problem. Steve could do it all the time, forever. Even with this awkwardness in the air.

The kitchen wasn't big. It was more of a prop in the apartment, a place for a refrigerator, functional enough to make scrambled eggs and heat up dinner.

Bucky resorted to some impressive maneuvering in his attempts to dance around Steve as though afraid to accidentally touch him. Steve found that distressing, but then Bucky did accidentally touch him in his desperate attempt to stop Steve from ruining the sauce by adding the wrong spice. Bucky grabbed his wrist with his right hand and touched the small of Steve's back with his left, and Steve tensed, surprised, actually twitched away, barely half an inch, but it was noticeable.

Bucky turned moody after that and they had an unpleasant dinner together. None of Steve's jokes could pull Bucky out of his mood.

Steve wanted to say, "Buck, it's okay. I was just surprised," but acknowledging it would just start a conversation Steve was not yet ready to have.

They watched a movie later and Steve sat down next to Bucky, close, their legs touching, which didn't seem to make an impression on Bucky, but Steve stayed put, pressing even closer.

He didn't even remember the movie afterward.

*

The Avengers Tower was terrifyingly high.

As Steve sat on the highest point and let his legs dangle over the ledge, he wondered if he'd survive the fall. Likely not. But there was an outpost below he could land on if needed.

A tip-tap of stilettos sounded behind him.

"That's not very stealthy," he said.

"Thought it best to announce myself," Natasha said, smoothly slipping down to sit beside him.

Steve tried not to sigh. "Are you here to tell me something like 'If you hurt him, I'll blow your brains out?'"

"If you hurt him, you'll blow your brains out. As demonstrated."

Oh. Yeah. He did try to do that. "I'd have done it, you know," he confessed, not sure why.

"I know," she said simply and leaned into him, sneaking an arm behind his back, so he was forced to hug her. Not that he minded.

"You have nothing to say?" he asked after a minute of silence.

"Nope. I'm just here. In your corner."

"Thought you were leaning more to Bucky's corner."

"Thought it was the same corner."

Steve smiled. "Fair enough."

She looked up suddenly, smiling. "I just remembered I almost blew his brains out. Ages ago in front of Sam's house."

"Yeah, you did." Steve frowned. "It'd be really messed up if you had done it."

"Yeah, would have been messed up if you had let him drown."

God, what if he had let Bucky drown? What if he never found out?

After a few minutes of silence, Nat said, "I read your biography."

"Did you?"

"Oh, yeah. Two of them. Saw the exhibit, too. With Bucky. We listened to Peggy Carter talk about you for an hour. We had hot dogs."

"I wanted to take him," Steve said, even though he knew it sounded childish.

"He'd already seen it. He took me." She looked up at him again. "I'm not… lying in wait, you know. Waiting for him to get over you so I can just slip in there. It's not like that. Maybe it was. It was confusing and complicated, I don't know. I kind of liked it. The experience, the feelings. It was new. But it's done, for me, months ago, for him, it never was. He's a good friend. I like having good friends."

"Me, too," he said. He did wonder about Natasha, how she felt. This was good to know.

Silence stretched again.

"Months ago," Steve said, "when I asked you to tell me how to help Bucky, you told me I should just keep doing what I was doing. What was it? What did I do?"

She grimaced up at him as though unamused by the question. "Loved him unconditionally? It's all over your face. The way you look at him, the way you talk to him, the way you are around him. He needed that. It made him feel safe. Brave. Enough to try out this new life, test out having new friends, feel worthy of it all because you thought he was."

Steve looked away and she made him look back with an exasperated, "Steve. You did good. You gave it all, love and support and space. He's not trying to punish you. You're not a crutch he wants to cast away. He wants to be whatever you want him to be to you. Lover, friend, family, it's your call. It takes time, though. To find a balance. To get on the same page."

"I only asked for a few days," Steve said. Childish again.

Natasha was unimpressed. "It's not the same and you know it. He needs to fall out of love. Put work into it. No one wants you to work on falling in love with him. I'm sorry, Steve, but you either feel it or you have to let him go."

Fall out of love. Let him go. God, those lines hurt. Like stab wounds, knives twisting in his chest.

"He'll come back to you," she said. "You know that."

"Find someone else."

"Maybe."

That hurt, too.

She squeezed his knee. "What is this really about?"

Steve shook his head. "I don't know." Well, that wasn't true. "I just… I can't picture it. The two of us, together… Something will happen. Something will go wrong. It won't work. There'll be an apocalypse. Or one of us will die. Or both. Or he'll realize… I can't picture it. It just… it won't happen."

She cocked her head. "Can't picture it with Bucky? Or can't picture it with anyone?"

"I never tried to picture it with anyone else. Except Peggy. And look how that turned out."

"He's terrified, too, you know."

"Of us?"

"Of happiness."

"Oh. And he still wants to go for it?"

"Well, yeah." She leaned her head against him. "Because he learned he wasn't being punished for anything and fear is just something you have to live with."

"I'm afraid I'll lose him. No matter what I do."

Natasha sighed. "Wish I could give you relationship advice, but you know I can't. Can I interest you in some crappy romcom lines?"

"Better not."

"It could be a great movie. Romantic. You came across time for him."

"That's Terminator. You're quoting Terminator."

"Oh." She frowned.

"It's not romantic."

"Terminator? It kind of is."

"What happened to Bucky. What led us here. I wonder if we had been together back then, would it have turned out different? Would I have stopped it?"

"Right. Because you're only invested in saving your romantic partners, not your friends. Or complete strangers. I will not be dragged into a conversation about guilt with you. We've been through all of it. You can play out those conversations in your head thanks to your freaky memory. But I changed my mind. I do have a piece of advice for you, specifically tailored. You should handle this the way you handle all your missions."

Steve didn't really know what she meant.

She snorted. "Jump."

*

It was day number five. That was stretching the term of 'a few days'. Two more and it would be a week.

Bucky was silent and sour today. He still lingered in the apartment, not even trying to be subtle with his looks, which had turned into glares. He was currently sprawled on the sofa, as though someone dropped him there, and watching the news with a scowl.

Steve was at the dining room table, far but there, sketching in plain sight. Bucky hadn't even asked to see.

This was cruel. Vicious, Sam had called it. It was not Steve's intent, but it was the result. He had to make a decision. He had to do something.

He'd drawn Bucky, just the face, not the current scowling one, but the one he made when Steve touched his shoulder once in passing. Open, hopeful. He took particular care to get the lips right. The fullness of the bottom lip, the seriousness of the top one. Then he drew another pair of lips, kissing Bucky's. Just the lips, no face. It could have been anyone. It could have been Steve.

Bucky's face was wrong, though. Steve didn't draw it right. It didn't look enough like Bucky, with that hair and that expression. The scowl wormed its way in after all. His expression said, "What are you doing, lips?"

With a sigh, Steve set the sketchbook down and walked over to Bucky, who took no notice of him.

It was darker in this part of the apartment. Bucky was in the shadows, face occasionally lit by the television.

"Can I kiss you?" Steve asked.

"What?" Bucky straightened up, startled. He must have been asleep or in very deep thought, because he looked around and said, "Did you say something?"

It was somewhat scary to repeat it. "Can I kiss you?"

Bucky's forehead creased. "You mean, like, experimentally?"

"I— yes."

For a second, Steve thought Bucky might punch him, but then he gave a jerky nod. "All right." It was half a sigh.

Steve leaned down to tap a button on the tablet thrown on the armchair and some of the lights turned on.

That seemed to throw Bucky off his guard and he shifted on the sofa, frowning, gaze on Steve as he sat beside him. Bucky didn't look inviting, didn't turn his body towards Steve to make it easier, but he'd given his permission so that meant Steve could just… He reached out and pushed Bucky's hair from his face, slowly, so he could feel the texture of it. It was softer than last time Steve had touched it. That was before Tony's special hairdryer and Natasha's products.

Bucky seemed to freeze up, gaze not leaving Steve's eyes.

Steve did it again and then kept his hand there, cradling the side of Bucky's head, daring to apply a little pressure as he leaned in, closed the distance and pressed his lips against Bucky's.

They were warm and dry, and then Steve angled his head, moved his lips, and with a strangled sound, Bucky pulled him in and kissed him properly. Gentle and passionate, and a little desperate. Steve was right.

And it wasn't terrifying, but Steve's heart seemed to hammer against his chest as though getting ready for battle. The wet slide of their lips, the slick poke of Bucky's tongue, it made Steve's throat constrict.

But then it was over, and Bucky pulled away, not far, but away, eyes open and still looking at Steve with confusion. And hope.

Steve kissed him again. And again. And then his chest seemed to expand, the way it had back in that chamber when they had given him the serum. It had scared him then, too.

"Shit. Steve." Bucky put his arms on Steve's shoulders. "It's okay. It's… why are you…? Jesus. It's fine. You don't have to…"

Bucky's sudden fear seemed displaced until Steve felt tears sliding down his cheeks. He hadn't meant to cry.

He kissed Bucky again, but Bucky dodged out, saying, "Hey, hey, what's happening here? Steve, I need to know."

Steve kissed him again anyway. "I want this," he said. "God, I want it."

Bucky's eyes were wide. "That… that's good."

"But I didn't know. I thought—" Steve kissed Bucky again; couldn't stop. This was heaven. This was pure warmth, an electric rush he could feel down to his toes.

Except Bucky kept dodging, and pushing, and pulling Steve's face away. Half-heartedly, between kissing back, but he would not stay still. "Steve, c'mon, talk to me."

"I didn't know," Steve repeated.

"Know what?"

"How this feels. I feel like such an idiot. I thought that I wouldn't... couldn't... I thought there was something wrong with me."

"What does that mean?" Bucky looked worried. Steve hated that.

"I just haven't really… I'm not very experienced," Steve said. He felt even less experienced now. How did he not know that it could be like this?

Bucky pulled back further and studied him. "You mean with relationships or… You don't mean with men, I'm guessing."

"Uh, no. In general."

"Okay, that's… I know you didn't get it on with Peggy. I kept close watch. There was so much pining. But what about all those USO girls? Are you… are you saying you're a virgin?"

"Not technically," Steve said, and Bucky pursed his lips. Steve sighed. "It was a strange time, the USO tour. Suddenly, all the girls wanted me. Rejecting them didn't feel right. Felt rude. I didn't want to be rude. I liked that they liked me. I thought you'd be pissed if I didn't get it on with any of them. You know, because I was supposed to. That's the normal thing." He laughed a little. "It was just… They weren't the kind of situations where you accumulate experience. All quick and awkward. Didn't really understand what all the fuss was about. I really thought there was something wrong with me. Maybe all along, maybe with this new body. But there was also Peggy, then, always on my mind. I thought maybe that's why the others didn't do anything for me. But I wasn't sure... I was afraid I had nothing to offer her. That it'll be like that with her, too."

Bucky spread his palm over Steve's chest as though in comfort. God, even that set Steve's skin ablaze.

"And after?" Bucky asked. "When you woke up here? It's been three years."

"Well, there were more fangirls. And fanboys. And colleagues, who gossip. Felt even more like I was out of my depth. I just had no desire to go for it. And I learned to reject politely. I thought... I thought it just wasn't for me. And you... you were Bucky, my friend, and not a... a woman. It felt even more unlikely."

"That was Sam's theory. That you have some serious hangups about being gay. One of mine, too."

"Well, I… I don't know. I mean, you don't have those? Hangups? Things were… how they were back then."

Bucky grimaced. "Well, sure. But my Captain once seriously messed up a guy who was making fun of a fella with a suspiciously feminine voice. And the Cap knew right from wrong. One of the things that made me love him a little more."

Steve remembered that. It wasn't really his proudest moment. He had not yet been aware of his strength, didn't hold back enough. Good fight or not it wasn't really a fair one.

"But it's not just that. I just didn't really care about it much. Sex and all that comes with it."

"And now you're..." Bucky frowned, uncertain. "What? It's all gone? No hangups, no worries?" He smiled weakly. "Steve, we just kissed, that's all."

"I know but… I never felt like this before. This is... It's the way I imagined it. You know, before I actually tried it with others. This is how it was supposed to feel, when I found the one."

Bucky blinked. "Well, I feel... mighty."

Steve laughed, but Bucky looked serious, awestruck. He kissed Steve again, as though to prove a point, test it out again. Steve drew a shuddering breath when Bucky's lips slid beneath his ear to kiss the sensitive skin there. He took Steve's earlobe between his teeth, tugged on it, and Steve gasped.

"Not panicking, are you?" Bucky murmured against Steve's skin and even that made Steve shudder. "If I'm the one, you didn't have to wait for me."

"That's the confusing part."

Bucky didn't like that. He pulled back. "You're still confused?" He kissed him, harder, deeper. It made Steve's whole body seize up. "You don't feel confused."

"Because I…" God, Steve had to take a breath. Get his thoughts in order. Say what he had to say. Explain. Unload. Ask for forgiveness. He didn't expect to feel like this. It distracted him from the thing he had to confess. He took Bucky's hands in his and forced them down. "Look, I need to tell you something. If we are signing up here, you need to know."

"Okay," Bucky said quickly. "If we're signing up, then I'm signing. I'm willing to skip the small print."

"I'm not," Steve said seriously.

Bucky's expression crumbled. "Jesus, just please tell me this conversation doesn't end with you changing your mind. I don't think I can take—"

"It doesn't." Steve kept Bucky's hands in his, amazed that he could do that, touch, linger. Why had he been afraid of it? "I won't change my mind. Not after… But you might."

Bucky blinked at that, incredulous. "What, you got a big dark secret? Not buying it, sorry. Would take a lot to scare me off. Or did you forget I told you I was in love with you since we were teens?"

"But I wasn't," Steve said, with difficulty. "I just, I need you to know that. This is new for me. That's what I… I wanted to make sure, separate the past. It gets confusing and I… It wasn't like that for me, back then. I loved you, always, that's just a fact, you were always a part of me. I loved you so much, Buck. When my mom died, you were everything to me. But I wasn't in love with you. I was in love with Peggy."

Bucky was staring at him, quiet.

Steve pushed on, had to get it out. "And it feels like a betrayal. Like my body and mind are telling me there was something missing back then, something that wasn't there to push me over that line, and now the thing that changed is that you went through an unspeakable ordeal, were hurt so much, and now I'm…. It even started before you took off your mask. While you were a broken stranger. I just, the way you were still fighting, the things Natasha told me, the miracle of you pushing through it all and surviving. It got to me. And then you took off your mask and… the joy of it. That it was you, that you lived, and the horror of it, because all those things happened to you. And the sheer confusion of me falling for you, for Bucky, my friend, a piece of me I've lost, and you confessing… I had no idea what to do with that.

"If you can understand, if you can forgive me. If you can forgive me for that one moment where I thought… It would have been better if it wasn't you. Then you wouldn't be the one who had suffered so much, and I… Maybe I could act on how I felt because it wouldn't be you, Bucky, who I knew forever. Who I failed so badly. So badly I should never be allowed—"

"Steve."

"Please just, after all that pain, I… I fall for the result. Don't you see? I don't deserve it. It's fucked up. It's not right. But I can't stop. I love how you are now, the whole deal, how you carry yourself, the way you talk, the way you smile, your hair, even the damn arm, I— more than anything, the way you pulled yourself out, with your mind sharp and your heart kind, the sheer strength of it sweeps me off my feet. It hits different. You're different. I love the man you were, but I'm in love with who you are now."

Bucky was still staring, still silent for a long moment. "Is that… Are you done?"

"I— yes." Steve couldn't really read his expression.

"So." Bucky frowned. "You want me to forgive you for loving me as I am?"

"You're oversimplifying what I said. You didn't think it through. It's not right that you went through hell and that's when I fell for you."

Bucky sighed. "I'm not oversimplifying, you're making fucked up correlations just to make yourself feel bad. Steve," Bucky said loudly when Steve opened his mouth to argue. "You told me yourself, we both changed, of course we did. There was the serum and the war, and brainwashing and a whole new life in the future. How do you know your feelings didn't change because you're different? What does it matter why, if this is when we're on the same page, at this moment? You think I'd feel bad for the kid I was because he didn't get you going? I was afraid of the opposite. That maybe you'd prefer him, and not this torn-up, changed version. Or worse, neither version. My feelings for you aren't some unchanging constant, either. I mean, if you reverted back to that little Steve, that'd be fucking weird. And I hated it when you got the serum. Where's the reason in that? What does it matter? We loved each other anyway, through it all. If my hair and the metal arm gets you all worked up, that's just a bonus."

Steve couldn't hold back a smile at that. "That's what you zeroed in? I had a whole list."

"Yeah, well, it's of particular interest to me. I thought you might like the hair and hate the arm."

"I did hate it when it was hurting you."

Bucky's eyes went soft. "You're beating yourself up for feelings that don't have an ounce of bad in them. You don't have to analyze it. We don't have to know why now and not then. Maybe you were waiting for a murderous Russian half-robot." Bucky's lips were trying to stretch into a smile. "He tries to kill your friends, shoots you, stabs you, and you're, like, that's the one, man. It happens."

"You're joking, but… that's what happened. Just, look at you, after everything you've been through. I don't know how you did it. Pushed forward like that. It takes my breath away. And you're all of it, my Bucky, my Soldier, a blend designed for me."

Bucky blew out a breath. "God, you're so…" He laughed and cupped Steve's face with his metal hand. He looked like he was desperate to kiss him, but instead he said, "Look, I can't tell you if that's fucked up or not. If that's relevant to you. I just can't help you there, I'm too biased. Because of all the things you could have said to me, this is…. It's the best thing you could have said. I don't feel like the old me, the one you knew, I don't feel like the Winter Soldier, I feel new. And I don't really know who that is yet. But if I'm a blend made for you then that's who I want to be. I'm on the right track." Bucky leaned in closer. "Can you do me a favor? Can you stop thinking? You're terrible at it. All of your conclusions are wrong. There's no room for doubts here. I love you, you love me. Steve, it can be that simple. You're looking for excuses not to be happy. You see that, don't you?"

Was that what he was doing?

"I want to be happy. I want to be with you."

"Then that's what you get. See? Easy." Bucky's eyes were searching.

God, but this was so easy. It always was with Bucky. Steve should have trusted that. Where was that fear now? Crippling fear that made him think he shouldn't ever, that made him feel all twisted and wrong, trapped in thoughts that got darker the more he thought them.

The way Bucky was looking at him, after Steve had bared his soul… Bucky still loved him, still wanted him. He was desperate with it; Steve could see it. Did it matter if Steve deserved it or not? He could still take it, it was right here, offered, happiness curling around his heart.

"Okay," Steve said, but it sounded tentative to his own ears so he tried again. "Okay. If you still want—"

"Yeah," Bucky laughed and kissed him. Long and lingering. He kissed Steve's mouth, his jaw, his neck, his mouth again. He pushed his hand, the right one, beneath Steve's shirt, caressed his back as though proving that now he could. His metal hand squeezed Steve's hip, slid upward, its grip cold where it touched bare skin. It was perfect, all of it. Being touched and kissed, with the kind of worship that didn't make Steve shy away but made him crave more.

Bucky stopped kissing him, pulled away a bit, but he kept his metal hand on Steve's hip, moved it higher under the shirt along Steve's side. Steve could not stop his shivering reactions.

"Yeah, you're not faking this," Bucky said.

That broke through Steve's haze somewhat. "Seriously? Come on, Buck, I wouldn't do that."

"I know. I know," Bucky said quickly. "Logically, but…." His metal fingers touched Steve's nipple and Steve gasped. "Damn good to see the proof, though." Bucky's voice was lower now, his eyes more focused; that made Steve shiver, too.

And Steve was worried he wouldn't like it, that it would feel strange and out of place, even more than it did back then with those girls. He'd been waiting for this for so long and almost didn't recognize it.

"I'll have to disappoint you, though," Bucky said. "You don't know the worst about me." His expression got somber but Steve knew they were heading towards a joke. "I am a Captain America fanboy." He nodded sagely. "I have merchandise to prove it. It's not just a plushie. Oh no. I got more stuff. I keep it all in my… " His eyes widened. "Oh." With no warning, he pulled away, got up, and rushed to Steve's room.

It took Steve several moments to recover from the abrupt loss of touch. He got up, bemused, and followed, and only when he saw Bucky searching through Steve's bed, making a mess of it, Steve realized what Bucky was looking for. He found it easily, stuffed between pillows.

"Ha." Bucky crowed, proudly displaying the Bucky Bear with its duct-taped arm. "Keep it in the bathroom, do you? You were sleeping with it. Did you do bad things to it?"

"Jesus, Buck," Steve laughed, incredulous. "It's a plush toy. What could I possibly do to it?" Bucky's expression turned horrifically dirty and Steve said, "Oh my god, don't answer that."

Bucky laughed, tugging on the plushie's duct-taped arm. "You know," he said. "I'm no shrink, but I see a whole new level of meaning in this little modification you've made."

Right. Well. Steve walked over, took away the bear, and placed it where it usually was during the night, on the nightstand, watching over Steve and making Steve smile each morning when he woke up. Then he pulled Bucky into a hug.

Bucky laughed; he must have been expecting a kiss.

"I'm sorry," Steve said after a while. "For making you wait. For confusing myself."

"No." Bucky lifted his head. "You needed to work things out, that's good. Especially since the conclusion was that I'm the Mighty One…"

Steve sighed. "This will be a whole thing now, won't it?"

"Obviously." Bucky’s teasing grin wavered. "After not being sure if you're even remotely interested or... disturbed by the idea... Well, a fella could stand hearing a little more about it. Like, if you were to say... I'm the only person who ever gave you a proper head-spinning kiss... I mean, that's what you're saying, right?"

Steve did his best to look doubtful. "Did you? Can't remember. It was a while ago."

Bucky's eyes darkened and, breath hitching, Steve braced himself.

*

An hour later — hours, a day, what was time? — Steve was on his back, breathless and shirtless, with Bucky straddling him, staring down, quite pleased with himself.

"Still not panicking?" Bucky asked.

"I keep waiting for it to hit," Steve said or rather panted out. "I think I'm just too annoyed to make time for it."

"Oh, is that what you are? This is your annoyed face? Shouldn't it be scary, Captain?"

Steve would like nothing better than to flip them over and stop this teasing, but he'd tried that already, and Bucky… He didn't like that.

He'd pushed at Steve, panicked, and got up. It took a while and lots of hugging for Bucky to calm down. Then he tried to apologize. To Steve… Which was just… Steve's heart must have been cloven in two; it took effort to put it back together.

No flipping. That was the rule. No taking charge. That was frustrating. But it was important, so Steve would follow that rule for as long as it takes. Forever was fine. This was fine. If only Bucky wasn't such a goddamn tease. But of course he was.

Steve had never been kissed and touched this much by another person. Not even if he put all the girls he'd ever been with together.

Bucky didn't seem to want to leave an inch of him unattended. Well, the upper inches. That was another problem.

And the arm was a problem. Steve meant what he had said, he loved the arm as he loved all parts of Bucky, but he hadn't meant to imply he was madly attracted to it.

But he was now. Because Bucky kept using it. Touching Steve's heated skin with cold, unyielding metal fingers, wrapping his hand around Steve's wrist, pushing against his chest, grabbing Steve's hip. The cold touch of it was always a shock, the strength of it a turn-on. At one point Bucky used it to threaten Steve's nipples with pain, but it never reached that point and that melted Steve's brain, the control of it. The well-measured touch, the tease and the care all mixed up.

Bucky placed his metal hand on Steve's stomach and Steve couldn't help twitching, violently.

"Are you still trying to kill me?" he asked. "Were you playing the long game this whole time?"

Bucky tutted at him. "You can't joke about that. It's inappropriate."

"I can. I'm doing it. You're just… Can you at least take off your shirt?" That was a whine. Steve was aware. But then he realized that maybe Bucky didn't want to take off his shirt and Steve was pushing. He didn't get the chance to apologize, though, because Bucky grinned and pulled off his shirt.

Steve instantly sat up. "No, no flipping," he said quickly when Bucky's smile slipped. "I just want to…" Distractedly, he arranged Bucky more comfortably on his lap, eyes on Bucky's left shoulder. The skin there was healthy, healed, smooth even along the rim of the metal. "Your scars, they're gone. I didn't know that."

"Uh, yeah. Tony and Bruce tinkered with it a bit more. Found some better solutions."

"I wish you told me." Steve ran his finger along the rim. "I wondered if it hurt you."

"They were just scars. Tony took away the pain back when he first opened it up."

But that couldn't have been true. Tony had said these parts never healed because they were constantly getting jostled. So it must have hurt, itched, ached, just not as much as before.

Steve pressed his lips there, where metal touched skin, kissing his way up and down, gentle, with little pressure in case something more intense could still cause discomfort.

Bucky made a sound Steve was unsure about, so he stopped and looked up. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." Bucky nodded. "I'm just… God, I knew you'd be like this."

"Like what?"

"Like, uh…" Bucky looked away, smiling, maybe even blushing. "Just go on, then."

Concluding this was a positive reaction, Steve very much did go on.

Bucky's breathing sped up, his metal fingers coming up to rub the back of Steve's head and neck. He was very sensitive on that side, all around the shoulder, lower towards his ribs; his left nipple was extremely sensitive. Steve had to be very careful there. He could rub and pinch the right one with his fingers and barely get a response, but the left one… the softest press of his lips had Bucky moaning, and the tiniest licks of his tongue had him shivering and squirming.

Now Steve understood Bucky hadn't been teasing him earlier; he was simply exploring because it was amazing. Steve learned he could make the right side of Bucky's chest equally sensitive — he just had to try a lot harder.

"Okay, stop," Bucky said, sounding like he was beside himself, and Steve stopped, smug.

Bucky didn't do anything, though. Just held Steve's shoulders, bent his head, and breathed.

"We can stop altogether," Steve said gently, even though he was painfully hard, and a part of his mind was calling him a madman for suggesting it. But none of it could ever prevent Steve from stopping if Bucky wanted to stop. It was not in question. Steve could exist in this state of utter frustration forever if that was what Bucky wanted. It didn't matter as long as Bucky was right here, on Steve's lap, letting him touch and kiss and hold.

"I don't want to stop altogether," Bucky said and that little treacherous part of Steve's brain stopped screaming. "I just…" Bucky was purposely not looking at him. "What if… I have this thought that would make me seem like a jerk? Like, what if I have a jerk question?"

Steve tried and failed not to smile. "That's in your nature? We established that decades ago."

Steve shouldn't have teased him at this moment. Bucky just looked miserable.

"Buck, come on. It's me." Steve gave him a quick kiss. "What's the question?"

Bucky dared a glance. "Uh." He seemed to consider the matter. "Okay, I just want to establish some ground rules."

"Noted. I'm listening."

"Right. Well. I mean, I didn't expect this to actually happen, so it wasn't a priority to… talk to you about things. Like, no flipping. You know. But well now I should. So… But I don't want this to be… one-sided, in the sense that I get to ask for things and you just agree with them because you think you have to."

"Uh, that's actually how it's gotta work for some things. Like, the no-flipping rule. There's no compromise there. Or the compromise is me asking if you can clarify a request I don't understand."

"No, yeah, okay, with things like that. But then there could be other requests that… That aren't about you not doing something, but about you doing something. Which… I need to know you'd refuse if you don't wanna do it. I don't want to be indulged to the point of you sacrificing your comfort. Like, if something makes you uncomfortable, I need to know. Just… reverse the situation and think about how you'd feel if I agreed to something I don't really want, but I'm doing it anyway just because someone else… hurt you in a way I never have. See, that'd be unfair."

"Now, I'm no expert on relationships, but I do know a few things about love. Sometimes, you do things you don't particularly enjoy because you want to make the person you love happy."

"Fine, okay. Generally speaking, I guess. But I'm talkin' about sex here, and that can't fly with me. Other people making choices for whatever reason they have, that's not my problem. I need you to be honest with me when you don't want something. I need you to promise that. Because if I'm gonna be worrying about whether or not you're forcing yourself to do something you don't enjoy on top of everything else I'm worrying about, I might just go insane. I need a Steve Rogers solemn promise here."

Steve wasn't really happy about this. He had no idea where Bucky was going with it and what he planned to ask of him. It could have been something weird in which case it could also be something Steve could power through without much fuss. There could be possibilities between refusal and acceptance.

But Bucky was waiting, upset, so Steve said, "I promise."

"Good." Bucky was clearly relieved. "Okay, then, so…" He worried his bottom lip for a moment. "Would you consider giving me a blowjob without getting one in return?"

Steve almost laughed. He buried his head in Bucky's neck in case he actually did. After all that talk, he was expecting something monumental.

Except it wasn't funny. It was the opposite of funny. The thought crashed into Steve's mind like a hammer. The reason why Bucky didn't want to do it to him, couldn't, because it would bring back memories, just the way Steve pushing him down onto the bed earlier had done.

"I can give you a handjob," Bucky said tentatively.

"No." Steve lifted his head. "No, you don't have to."

"No, no, I want to. I want that. I do. Very, very much. I— I want the other thing, too. I just… I'm worried…"

"You don't have to explain."

"You said I do, that's the compromise. Explaining."

Dammit. "Only if I don't understand. And I do. And I'll be happy to fulfill that request. You don't have to do anything."

"You're not listening. I said what I want and don't want. I'm being honest here. Voicing my dos and don'ts. My therapist would be so goddamn proud."

"Okay. Okay, then I'm proud of you, too."

Bucky's lips twitched. "Yeah, but do you want my cock in your mouth, that's the question."

"Jesus, Buck." Steve laughed. "You're giving me whiplash here." But Bucky looked expectant and Steve swallowed and said, "Yeah, I do." He'd almost gone soft in the meantime, but he was getting back on track. "Very, very much," he added, since he'd promised to be honest.

Bucky breathed out and squirmed a little. "That's, that's good, then."

"Although, you should keep your expectations in check. I've never done it before. And well…" Still being honest. "I like the idea of it, in my head. I might panic, though?"

Bucky nodded hastily. "I hear you. It's all good."

"Well, then…" Steve's hand traveled down Bucky's chest to the waistband of his pants.

*

Steve didn't panic. And apparently experience wasn't that relevant with enough enthusiasm. Steve had plenty of that. He didn't realize how much until Bucky sat on the edge of the bed and Steve went down on his knees between Bucky's thighs. Bucky's cock was in front of Steve's face, thick and beautiful, and so warm to the touch.

He loved the feel of it, the taste of it, its weight on his tongue, the way it filled his mouth. He adored Bucky's reactions. The moans, the whimpers, the touch of his fingers on Steve's scalp, the little cries of "Oh God," and occasionally "Steve."

The handjob happened much later, because Steve couldn't take it anymore; he stroked himself to completion with Bucky's cock still in his mouth.

They were, fortunately, super soldiers.

*

"Oh my god." Tony pointed a screwdriver at him. "Why are you here already? You're an hour early. An hour."

"Half an hour," Steve said.

"Oh, so you can tell time? Bucky, please do something. Your boyfriend is annoying me. He's gonna hover now."

Bucky was grinning as he arranged heavy-looking pipes in some elaborate construction of Tony's that Steve could not hope or wish to understand. "Yeah, he is," Bucky said with, Steve was quite sure, an unnecessary flex of muscles as he picked up another pipe as though it was nothing. He was a little sweaty, though, skin covered with a sheen, especially noticeable since he was wearing a tank top.

All of it deliberate. Which Steve knew. Which is why he was half an hour early. They were supposed to go out on a date, which happened too rarely because of stuff like this. Bucky had mentioned Tony and he were building something today, not sitting behind computers. He had also explained what, but Steve hadn't listened. Instead, he was already imagining this — sweat and flexing muscles and tank tops — and now there was no way they were going anywhere anytime soon.

"Don't sit there!" Tony said as Steve tried to sit on the uncluttered portion of one of the sturdy-looking desks. "We have chairs. Tell him we have chairs."

We, Tony had said. Because this had been Tony's and Bucky's workshop for a while now. Steve had watched them work a number of times. They had a certain dynamic that seemed to suit them both. It was clear Bucky knew what he was doing, and when he didn't, Tony clearly enjoyed explaining it to him because Bucky actually understood it. It was also clear Tony was running the show, but amazingly he was willing to listen to Bucky's suggestions. He didn't necessarily accept them but he listened, and then, if needed, argued against them in a respectful — or rather non-insulting way — which… was a damn miracle.

For his part, Bucky seemed to have endless patience for Tony, something Steve could never manage no matter how grateful he was for everything Tony had done for Bucky. These days Bucky was celebrated as a hero, not by everyone, but by the majority, and that had been Tony's doing. His money, his power, his connections, and his iron will to get it done.

Steve was still working through the idea of sharing Bucky with others. It was good for Bucky and good for Steve, and it was a mantra Steve kept repeating to himself whenever Bucky wasn't with him but somewhere else.

This was a bit of a compromise. Bucky was working with Tony for hours; Steve was rewarded with half an hour of watching.

"Uh, that's wrong." Tony stared at one of the pipes. "No, no, I got it all wrong. It's two inches two thick."

"It is?" Bucky looked doubtful.

"It is." Tony gave a huge sigh. "I need the one from yesterday. From storage."

Bucky's eyes narrowed.

"Oh, come on. It's storage. There'll be things to lift and move. What do you want me to do? Put on the suit to lift things? Please?"

Oh. So Bucky got a please, too?

Shaking his head, Bucky said, "I'll be right back." He gave Steve an oddly furtive look as he walked past and left.

That had been a warning of some sort. Tony had clearly sent Bucky away on a needless errand.

Steve squared his shoulders. Tony was silent, though, clinking and clanking with his screwdriver.

This couldn't have been about Steve and Bucky moving out. They'd already had that conversation. Bucky was not yet ready to leave the safety of the Tower, but it would happen eventually. Tony would just have to deal with that.

"You got something to say?" Steve asked. Bucky was probably on his way back by now.

"Who, me?" Tony shrugged. "I always got something to say. Were you hoping for something in particular? Quantum mechanics, perhaps?"

"If it's about Bucky, then just say it."

"Now, why would you say that?"

"I don't know. I keep waiting for one of you to threaten me with bodily harm if I hurt Bucky's feelings or something, and it hasn't happened yet."

"Oh. I can threaten you if that's what you want." He twirled around. "Behold! The Iron Legion!" He pointed at an impressive row of Iron Man suits. "They can turn you into dust. More importantly, they can grab you by the ankle and fly you all over the city with or without pants."

"Uh, good threatening," Steve said, impressed.

"Also, the black one, of course, that one is coded to Bucky. Keeps track of him, would be dispatched in seconds if there's trouble. Or if there's a really big parade with loud drums. Uh, that was a bad test run. Fixed it." He turned to look at him. "Interesting, though, that you would think we'd threaten you. I mean, anyone else, sure, but you got the dibs on threatening someone if they hurt Bucky. We can't do it to you, it's pointless. So where's that expectation coming from? "

"Well, because. I already hurt him. With my confusion, making him wait."

"Oh, right. Guilt. That's the thing. Hmm." He walked closer. "You know, back when we were picking a therapist for Bucky, we were looking for people who specialized in the kind of trauma he had. So there were a lot of great recommendations that just got thrown away from the start. Great, great therapists, you know. Don't punch me."

"What?"

Tony held out a card. "This guy, for example. Great reviews, came recommended, very expensive, but does a lot of volunteer work, with vets. You'd like him. He's funny. Easy-going. Seriously, don't punch me. Take the card."

Steve took it, half on instinct, and looked at the name and number on it.

"I called ahead. So you can just call, arrange a meeting. Easy peasy."

Steve looked up and frowned.

Tony took two steps back.

"I'm not gonna punch you," Steve said, snappish. "I just… You want me to see a therapist? Is this some kind of prank?"

"Yeah, sure. Because it's such a crazy idea. You had such an easy life, trauma-free, daisies and roses, singing in the meadow. By the way if you ever do that, please record it. I'm imagining Julie Andrews type of spinning here. More legwork. She kind of has your haircut?"

"No, it's…" Steve studied Tony for a second. Tony was being serious. As serious as Steve had ever seen him. "I'm fine. I mean, yeah, I was… not fine for a bit there. With everything that happened. But now? You're coming at me with this now? Tony, I'm good. I'm happy. I got everything I wanted."

"Right, right. Big sweeping romance blossoming into a steady relationship." Tony gave him a sarcastic thumbs up. "Yeah, I've been there. Great feeling. Liberating. Finding someone who understands you. But here's the rub: you've got issues. We all do. We all know it. So, do you withhold it all from your significant other? Or dump it all on them? Neither is good. I was the latter; I'd say you're the former. It's not just about you, is what I'm saying. But it is also about you. Look, with all due respect for sweeping romances, I don't want to be a downer here, but it's not a fix-it-all. Here's a Pepper quote for you: relationships take work. I was told, didn't listen, nearly wrecked it all. More than once.

"It doesn't look like that now,' Tony comtinued. "I get it. But by the time you get it, it could be too late. I just want to give you a head start. You don't want to do it for you, do it for him. Although, you should also do it for you. You're a sad, sad old man trapped in your head, Cap. Just because you're happy now doesn't mean you turned into someone else."

Steve wasn't even sure how to react. If anyone else told him this it would be easy to brush it off, but Tony saying it, that was… unexpected. "Do you have a therapist? Wait, you do, you told me. Or was that a joke?"

"Argh!" Tony rolled his eyes. "See, this is what I'm talking about. We're not having a heart-to-heart. Because I'm busy. Plus, I don't want to. I told you, we all got issues, our own shit to deal with, some heavy shit, Steve. You know who could listen and help? Sam Wilson. He's the type. But tell me, how fair is that? He's not getting paid."

"I don't dump all of my problems on my friends," Steve said, affronted. "Didn't realize it was forbidden to have an actual conversation."

"No, no, you're right. You don't dump them on your friends, you don't dump them on Bucky, so who do you dump them on? God, I said dump too many times. Look, that's what I'm saying. That's what you need. A paid professional who listens. Where you don't have to worry about being a big miserable burden. Because that's how you see yourself. Tell me I'm wrong."

You're wrong, Steve wanted to say, but that… that hit a little too close. The problem was that he had been a big miserable burden when he was a kid to his mother and Bucky. He just never wanted to be that again.

Steve stared at the card. "Did it help you? Therapy?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "You just have to… Okay, look, sometimes it sucks having good friends. Because they just… forgive your shit, like it's nothing. And it's… it tricks you. Makes you forget you didn't forgive yourself. But that's the cornerstone. You don't get to build anything without it. Thing is, you have a lot of misplaced guilt, mine was very well placed. So. It should work for you even better. Should be cheaper, too. Get your jollies off, all I'm saying."

Bucky came back then and Steve pocketed the card.

Some ten minutes later, the moment they left the workshop, Bucky rounded on him. "What did he want? What did he say to you?"

"You don't know?" Steve asked, wondering if him needing therapy was some sort of discussion Tony and Bucky had. Or a discussion they all had.

"Jesus, was it about us going public? That's just such a non-issue, Steve."

"What?"

Bucky stared at him. "Dammit."

Steve was completely taken aback. "You want us to go public."

"No. No, it's—" They stopped in front of the elevator, and Bucky pressed the button rather violently. "Tony asked about it, and I said I wouldn't mind going public. I don't really want it to be a secret or something. It was just a general statement. A general discussion."

"I— I didn't think of this as a secret. Are we keeping it a secret? I mean, I wasn't planning on making a public statement. Do you want me to make a public statement?"

"No. Fuck. No."

The elevator dinged and opened the door. Steve considered Bucky for a moment. "I'll make a public statement." He walked into the elevator.

Bucky followed him. "No. Steve, you're not listening."

He kept saying that to Steve. "Okay. I'm listening now. But first I want to make it clear I don't want to keep this a secret. I don't think it's anyone's business, but I don't mind making a public statement."

"No statements," Bucky said firmly. "Not yet…" he amended. "It's not about you doing it or not. You just… We need to think it through. Yes, things are different now. We won't go to jail. But it's still not that simple. We have to consider public opinion, the general trust people have in the Avengers, the possible fallout. Don't look at me like that. Like it doesn't matter. It sucks but it does. There are bigger things at stake here."

"You're right. But you didn't think it through. You think the problem is the general public will lose their respect for me, for us. But that ain't it. The problem is that I might lose respect for them. I told you. I believe in the majority, their good intentions, the little guys trying to do the right thing, be good people. If they wreck that belief, that's their problem."

Bucky stared at him and then his lips twitched. "You're a mule. I swear, you're an actual mule."

"Am I making a statement, Buck? I'm riled up enough to do it right now. The only thing that can stop me is if you're not ready."

They arrived at their floor and the elevator door opened and then tried to close again, but Bucky stopped it with his hand. They stepped out. "That's tempting. Really tempting. But I want us to be smart about this, use a PR team, make a plan, have others deal with the fallout. We have that option, and I wanna take it. Unless you're really, really against that."

There was a catch in Bucky's tone, and Steve knew the real concern was 'Unless that would make you think less of me.'

"I don't mind making it easier." Generally speaking, that was Tony's point, too. There were ways to make things easier, maybe Steve could try them. "In fact, in a similar vein, Tony suggested… He gave me a card. Of some therapist. I'm thinking of doing it."

"Oh." Bucky was definitely surprised.

"Do you… Do you think that's a good idea?" Somehow Steve had concluded this was also something Bucky had discussed with Tony, but apparently not. This was just Tony. That was making Steve unsure again.

"Uh." Bucky ran his fingers through his hair. "I can't answer that. I can tell you it worked for me. So. I'm, you know, all in favor of shrinks now. It's good. Talking to someone who's paid to listen but still seems like they care. Gets the words going. Gets you thinking in directions you didn't want or even know you could have taken. I feel like it's always a good idea to try? Stick it out for a bit."

"Do you think I'm a sad old man trapped in my head?"

Bucky laughed. "I think you were born a sad, old man. No fixing that. The trapped in your head part, that could be worth a look. To the shrink at the very least."

"Funny."

"Look, I know what you're thinking," Bucky said and proceeded to prove it. "You're thinking, with the things that happened to me, the things that happened to you are irrelevant in comparison. But they don't actually award shrinks based on a scale with a minimal trauma requirement. There's no bar my experiences raised. Someone who's claustrophobic because they got accidentally locked in a small space as a kid is still allowed to get therapy to work it out. And you were dealt with some shitty cards, Steve. If our roles were reversed, I know I'd need therapy." He smiled. "You realize we had this conversation before? More than once. You always thought you had to tough it out on your own, and I always told you that you don't have to. That's the point. You keep forgetting."

Steve bit his lip, smiling at the memories. "Therapy has made you wise. I'll give you that."

"I was always wise. You just weren't ready to see it."

"I see it now," Steve said, doing his best to give Bucky a lewd once over.

Bucky sighed. "God, help me. That’s terrible flirting. And it's still working for me. Go on, then. Let's take a shower. But, for the record, this is you avoiding serious conversations."

"Which I can do, if I go to therapy," Steve joked.

"Whatever works for you, pal," Bucky said, his metal fingers wrapping around Steve's bicep and pulling him along. And making Steve hard in an instant. Maybe that was something he could talk about in therapy.

*

This time Steve didn't puke when they were riding the Cyclone. He didn't even scream. It was still fun, though. Jimmy and Jessica screamed their lungs out but didn't puke. Good genes, probably. Bucky was as delighted as he ever was and wanted to go again.

Jimmy and Jessica begged them not to.

"I wanted to, like, see Manhattan or something," Jessica gasped. "You know the big shiny New York stuff. Empire state, the Met, things that don't make your head feel like it's not attached."

"Coney Island is a big shiny New York thing," Bucky said, affronted.

"The Met is on the itinerary," Steve added.

"I love that you have an itinerary," Jimmy said. "Truly."

Sometimes, these two reminded Steve too much of Bucky.

"Steve, Steve, Steve," Bucky said and Steve tensed. "Tell me I can. It's not cheating."

Steve followed Bucky's line of sight and, yup, there was a stand with a bunch of stuffed animals one could win with a good shot.

"I mean, go ahead, but if he recognizes you, you're on your own."

"Eh." Bucky pulled down his baseball cap, put on a glove and then gave Steve, who was also wearing a baseball cap, a critical once over. "Stay here," he instructed. Apparently, a baseball cap was good enough for Bucky but not good enough for Steve.

"He's not going to rob that stand, is he?" Jessica asked, watching Bucky's retreating back.

"Technically, no," Steve said, amused.

Some minutes later, Bucky came back, grinning, with two large bunnies and one enormous giraffe. He gave the bunnies to Jimmy and Jessica and the giraffe to Steve, of course, just to make him look stupid.

It definitely made people look Steve's way, then look twice. Then they took out their phones.

"Uh," Steve said.

"And you guys had such good disguises." Jimmy smirked.

"We should—" Run and hide, Steve was going to say, but Bucky took off his baseball cap and then took off Steve's.

"Out and proud, the PR team said." Bucky grinned.

"What are you—" Jessica began. "Oh," she said when Bucky leaned in and gave Steve a lingering kiss. He even reached up with his left hand, glove-free, and cupped Steve's jaw.

Steve could hear the soft clicks of phone cameras all around them.

"Oh my god," Jessica said, delighted, when Bucky pulled away. "I just got fifty bucks."

"I don't have it on me," Jimmy said, annoyed. "Not to spare."

"Sounds like your problem," Jessica chirped. Then she rushed over to give Bucky a hug. "Is this for real? Is this new?"

"Yes, and basically yes," Bucky said, looking just a little apprehensive now.

"I'm so happy for you," Jessica said. "Also, for me." She beamed. "I can sell my shield for so much money on eBay now. You signed it 'Love, Bucky and Steve Rogers,' do you even realize?"

Steve didn't realize that was how they had signed it. Bucky had just signed with 'Love, Bucky' and Steve had added 'and Steve Rogers.'

"I'm really proud you have your priorities straight," Bucky said, laughing.

"I'm also really happy for you," Jimmy said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head. "Fifty bucks aside…"

People were whispering all around them, still photographing. Bucky's hand slid down to Steve's waist and stayed there. His fingers were clenching. This was too much attention.

"Okay, then. That's done." Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky's shoulders and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "This is not the day for statements. We have an itinerary. So, now we run."

They walked, though, back to the car as oblivious as they could make themselves look.

"Fifty bucks on this being all over the Internet in less than half an hour," Jimmy said when they got into the car.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Jessica laughed. "But, I mean, it will be. Was that the plan?"

Bucky grinned. "More of a spontaneous decision with full awareness of possible consequences. Kind of. That was a lot of clicking."

Jessica browsed her phone in between asking for details: the when, the where, the how, looking genuinely pleased. Jimmy was much more reserved, though he'd jump in with a comment occasionally. Bucky answered, throwing in a few jokes. If Steve didn't know him so well, he'd think he was perfectly at ease.

"Oh my God, there it is," Jessica said suddenly.

Jimmy leaned in to see. "Oh, they think it's photoshopped. The giraffe makes that obvious, apparently."

Bucky grinned at that, though he sobered up when he looked back and asked, "Do you think your parents will have a problem with this? Your grandfather?"

"Oh no! We already have a gay uncle on our mom's side. Everyone loves him. He's a big fan of the Avengers. Huge. He was dying to meet you but we—"

Jimmy coughed.

"Um." Jessica smiled sheepishly. "Well, he'll be happy."

Bucky looked scandalized. "Are you trying to tell me you hid your gay uncle from us? What did you think we'd do?"

"Nothing," she said defensively. "We just thought it could be awkward. Because you're so old and you lived in a different time. We didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

"But you must have suspected something. What's with the bet, then?"

"Oh, well, I did guess there was something there. That was the bet. But… I thought you'd struggle with internalized homophobia until you die, alone and miserable."

"God, Jess, you're so embarrassing," Jimmy said.

"Though, obviously, not as embarrassing as a gay uncle," Steve teased.

"Um." Jessica blushed.

"Ha!" Bucky crowed. "That's right. You can't lecture Captain America on homophobia. Captain America lectures you."

"You're right, though," Steve said fairly. "Those were different times. But I'm continually told things haven't changed enough." He noticed Jessica turned off her phone after that.

"The Avengers changed a lot already," Jimmy said. "This could be one more thing."

"Could be," Steve said. "Doesn't have to be." He smiled at Bucky. "We're good with what we got." He reached out to squeeze Bucky's hand. Because he could. The novelty of that would never wear off, just the fact that he could touch Bucky now, whenever. Not only that but touch knowing exactly how welcome that was.

Bucky grinned. "Eyes on the road, punk." He kept Steve's hand in his, though.

*

Late one evening, Steve showed Bucky his sketches. Of buildings and people and animals, and so, so many sketches of Bucky.

"You got really good at this," Bucky said quietly, as he leafed through them. "I mean at drawing me. The rest needs practice." He gave Steve one of his devious side-long glances, which always made Steve's heart skip a beat.

"Well," Steve said. "I thought I wasn't allowed to touch you, so this was the closest thing."

Bucky closed the sketchbook with a snap. "Yeah, okay, I have to kiss you now. A lot," he added as he went to put away the sketchbook back in Steve's nightstand. And opened the wrong drawer.

"Um," Bucky said, staring at the contents of Steve's drawer.

Steve didn't even think of it. Didn't react until it was too late.

There was lube in that drawer, and not just one bottle, which Steve could explain away, but several little bottles and tubes.

Bucky's neck was bent. He was hiding behind his hair again. He closed the drawer. "I told you," he said, quiet. "I can't."

"Buck, I know." He did. Bucky had told him, after the first few days, very clearly: I can't do more. Not yet. And Steve had promised that was okay. He meant it. He just got curious. This was so new for him. Everything they did. His own thoughts. He did some research, couldn't stop himself. Everything was so easily found on the internet, and so easily bought with a few clicks. "I'm sorry. I was just... I thought maybe this was the same kind of 'I can't, but you can,' type of situation. But if I'm wrong, I'm wrong. I'll throw it away; it doesn't matter."

Bucky lifted his head to look at him. That was a good sign. His expression was...

"Oh," Bucky said. Surprised, that was the look. "Oh."

Steve wasn't sure what that meant.

"It is," Bucky added, hurried now. "That's the situation. It's... That's what... Yeah, I can't but you..." He nodded. "Huh."

That didn't sound like Bucky was sure. "It doesn't have to mean anything. This is so new for me. I thought about it, just couldn't stop—"

"That's a lot of lube."

"Well, yeah. I didn't know what kind— I swear, I don't mean to put pressure on you. I should have asked; I know that now. Asked you to clarify. Now it looks like... I shouldn't have assumed. You don't have to—"

Steve stopped talking when he realized Bucky's eyes had gone dark, the intent in them unmistakable.

"Though..." Steve's throat was closing up. "If you do want..."

"Oh, I want," Bucky said, and this time Steve believed him.

*

Steve, unlike Bucky, didn't mind feeling trapped. Not beneath Bucky, who had a kind of right to it, in Steve's mind. This was how it would have been, back then, when Steve was small. Steve didn't miss being small and he didn't think about this then, but he thought of himself as a burden and now he realized he'd never been that to Bucky.

Bucky wanted him, all this time. Spent time in Steve's room, reading and joking and laughing, fetching a glass of water, patting Steve's back, placing a wet rag on Steve's forehead. It wasn't pity, an obligation of a good man showing his worth; it was love. All this time it was love. And Steve wanted to feel it.

And he did. In the way Bucky looked at him, touched him, with reverence and care. In Bucky's expression when he pushed inside Steve, moved, found a rhythm. In his eyes when Steve said his name.

Should Steve have been embarrassed? Lying on his back, legs spread wide, bent at the knees, open and vulnerable, and so damn full. Bucky was everywhere, over him, inside of him. His Bucky, returned from the dead, loving and forgiving. A goddamn miracle.

Bucky laughed against Steve's lips, breathless. "If you say so."

Oh. Steve had said that out loud.

"Will you start swearing now?" Bucky asked. "That'd be a show. Go on, then." He pressed his lips to Steve's ear. "Tell me you like getting fucked."

"By you," Steve emphasized even as he shuddered. "I like getting fucked by you."

"Jesus. Fuck," Bucky groaned, hips twitching faster. "You're so…"

Steve wanted to ask 'What?' but he could no longer speak.

"Made for me," Bucky gasped. "My reward."

"Yeah, okay," Steve said, accepting it in his haze, before his orgasm overtook his senses.

He came down from it slowly, amazed by the intensity, overwhelmed by the feel of Bucky's shaking body on top of him. Bucky was gasping out nonsense, still thrusting, head bent, hair falling forward, then he groaned, shuddered and collapsed fully onto Steve. It made Steve smile. That would have crushed him when he was small, but now it was the perfect weight, one Steve could feel, but not be overwhelmed.

Later, after they cleaned up, Bucky settled in Steve's arms like he always did.

"If I knew this was waiting for me in the end," Bucky said, "I'd go through it all over again."

"No. Bucky. Don't say that." That was horrifying.

"I would, though— Okay, okay, calm down," Bucky said quickly when Steve tried to dislodge him so he could look at him and give him a stern talking-to. "I'm happy, that's all. Didn't think I could be. Feels good to have this, after everything."

"Okay." Steve kissed the top of Bucky's head. "Just please don't say stupid shit like that. It's not romantic. It's upsetting."

"Fucking romance expert now," Bucky mumbled against Steve's skin. "Point is things happened the way they did and here we are. Change a small thing and who knows? I find that comforting."

"Okay," Steve said again. "I sort of see your point. It's just that you make it sound like it was destiny or something. All the pain for a reward. And I refuse to believe you were destined to go through it. That was just… horrible people, no meaning, no reason except for what they told themselves."

"Sure. But still…" He looked up at Steve and smiled. "Here we are."

"Yeah, okay, here we are." Steve grinned, relenting, and lifted up his head a bit to give Bucky a quick kiss.

"Okay, no more heavy shit," Bucky said. "Tell me what else you bought."

"Uh. Just the lube. I—I have more stuff in my cart..."

Bucky laughed. "Gonna have to see that."

"Sure."

"And I want you to draw me a pornographic sketch. Of the two of us. You've got reference now."

"Hmm. All right."

"Not now," Bucky complained as Steve dislodged him, getting his sketchbook, and turning on the lights.

"I'm inspired now," Steve said, settling in a half-sitting position, sketchbook propped against his knees. Bucky pulled up close and leaned his head on Steve's shoulder, so he could watch Steve draw.

He kept laughing and complaining at the random looking lines on the paper, and then started up a running commentary.

"Is that my ass? Is that a desk? Is that a desk leg or your dick? I mean, that's taking it a bit far."

It took a while for the sketch to manifest itself and become clear. Bucky was getting quiet. And squirmy.

"So. That's a kitchen counter?" he asked, voice getting lower. "And you are all, uh, bent, and... Interesting position for my metal arm there."

"Mmm-hmm," Steve agreed.

"Uh, nice curve there, along the spine. That sketched Steve is really enjoying himself."

"Looks like."

"We have a kitchen counter," Bucky said, the palm of his metal hand stretched over Steve's stomach.

"We sure do."

Steve didn't get to finish his sketch.

*

Natasha stretched out to take another cinnamon roll, an impressive little maneuver considering she was curled up on the couch. She hooked her bare foot around Bucky's calf to balance herself.

"Are we playing floor is lava?" Clint wondered as she said, "I don't see how that's our problem. We dealt with the threat. And now it's over and done with."

"He's just a kid," Steve said from his seat on Bucky's other side. "That makes it our problem."

"How do you know he's a kid?" Bucky asked.

Clint snorted. "By the way he said 'Oh my God, you guys are so cool,' in a kid voice."

"He did not appear to need our help," Thor said, drinking his fifth beer. "We needed his."

"I think that's overstating it," Natasha complained. "He did good. He's enhanced, obviously, what with throwing that car around. But what do you want to do? Invite him over? Give him a membership card? You said it, Steve, he's just a kid."

"Are there membership cards?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, we all got one," Clint said, without missing a beat.

Steve shook his head at Sam.

"You know what bothers me?" Clint said. "That white slimy stuff. Is that coming out of him? Did anyone see?"

They all shook their heads, equally concerned.

"I don't like spiders," Thor said. "Too many legs. And they're too hairy."

"He had two legs," Bruce said. "And no extra hair he could hide in that pajama getup."

"The pajamas are a cry for help, I'll give you that," Natasha said. "I thought Tony would spontaneously explode when he saw them."

"Where is Tony?" Bruce asked. "Aren't we supposed to be celebrating?"

Everyone looked at Bucky.

"I don't know," Bucky said, defensive. "J.A.R.V.I.S. had something for him." He sunk further into the couch and into Steve's side. He was not in a good mood. He never was when the rest of them had a mission and left him here. He was on the comms sometimes, guiding them, if the mission required it, but that was rare. That was mostly J.A.R.V.I.S.'s job.

Steve understood. Bucky wanted to go with them, and he didn't. He wanted Steve to do this job, and he didn't. Steve couldn't really help him, all he could do was be there, wrap an arm around him, which he did, and let him work it out in his mind.

The reactions to them coming out weren't helping even though they were generally positive. It just seemed everyone had a very strong opinion on the matter. It was exhausting. The media coverage had been insane. Steve was hounded by reporters today in the midst of fighting aliens who were trying to wipe out Queens.

Fortunately, no one was stupid enough to tell Bucky about that. A superpowered kid in red pajamas who randomly showed up to help was a much safer topic.

"If he's enhanced," Bucky said, "he should be brought in. It makes him vulnerable. Exploitable."

"James, I get it," Natasha said gently. "But who's gonna play babysitter?"

"I will," Bucky said. "I got nothing better to do." He frowned. "Unless when you said kid, you meant he's actually ten and needs an actual babysitter. Then I will not."

"At this point, I couldn't really tell you how old he is." Natasha looked around the room, eyebrows raised.

"Not ten," Clint said, sounding fairly confident.

"I'll help," Steve said. "We all can. We're not actually that busy."

"I'm very busy," Bruce said, looking insulted. "And I can't help. Unless you want me to randomly scare him."

"I am also very busy," Thor said. "Protecting the Nine Realms. Nine."

"I don't live here," Sam said. "And I don't have a membership card."

"Yeah, I also have stuff to do," Clint said. "So much stuff." Nat gave him a look. "With Natasha. She's also busy."

"Excellent," Steve said. "Due to poorly presented arguments, Clint and Natasha had just volunteered."

Clint's and Nat's loud complaints gave Steve a chance to lean in closer to Bucky and whisper, "What do you mean you have nothing better to do?" He squeezed Bucky's thigh to get his meaning across.

Bucky rolled his eyes but his mouth twitched. "I don't think doing that counts as me being a productive member of society."

"But it does keep you busy."

Bucky's voice dropped even lower. "I can manage you just fine in my spare time."

"Poetic," Steve said, willing himself not to blush at the tinge of promise in Bucky's voice. Their sex life was constantly making Steve blush these days. Even though some restrictions on Bucky's part still lingered, Steve was more than happy to give Bucky full access to his body. And Bucky certainly did blush-inducing, wonderful things to it.

Natasha kicked Bucky's thigh with her foot. "Stop flirting. It's impolite to do it in front of your single friends."

"Speak for yourself," Clint said.

"Indeed," Thor added.

"Wait, you're not single?" Bruce frowned at Clint.

"Rarely, if ever," Clint smirked and snatched the last cinnamon roll.

Which was really unfair, Steve realized. Tony had paid for them as well as everything else.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., where's Tony?" Steve asked the air.

Bucky grinned. "I love how you look up when you talk to him. It's very polite of you."

Steve ignored him.

"Mr. Stark is on his way here," J.A.R.V.I.S. said. "He had been delayed."

"That's…" Natasha frowned. "Secretive."

J.A.R.V.I.S. didn't answer.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., is there something we should be worried about?" Steve asked, tensing up.

"I'm afraid there is, Captain. Mr. Stark will explain momentarily."

Everyone straightened up. Bucky disentangled himself from Steve. Natasha put on her shoes.

"Don't we get breaks anymore?" she complained. "I'm still achy. And a little drunk."

"Uh." Clint set his beer down. Thor continued to sip his, looking smug.

Tony arrived, not long after, still in his suit. He hadn't even cleaned it up.

"Yeah, so, suit up," he said. He frowned at the table. "Did you eat everything? What's wrong with you people?"

"Is it aliens?" Clint asked, clearly redirecting Tony's attention.

"Is it something gross and slimy?" Sam grimaced. "I had my fill for today."

"Gross and slimy, check. Aliens, uncheck. Uh. Not literally gross and slimy, though." His gaze fell on Bucky. "J.A.R.V.I.S. found the remaining three HYDRA heads. Or rather, they found us."

Bucky's metal fist clenched.

"Found us?" Natasha asked. "Were we hiding?"

Tony sighed and said, "J.A.R.V.I.S., screen." A screen popped out of Tony's tablet with a picture of some kid. "Meet Peter Parker. Again. This time without the pajamas. The three HYDRA heads showed up in New York a few hours ago while we were fighting off aliens along with this kid. Well, I found him, which wasn't hard, and then they found him, because it wasn't hard. And I'm guessing they think he's one of us, but a much easier target, because they just broke into his school in Queens, and took a bunch of hostages. That part is all over the news, which you're not watching, I'm noticing. I mean, you're allowed to have it on in the background. Stay informed. Anyway, they're asking for the Avengers."

Steve got on his feet halfway through Tony's explanations, so did everyone else. Except Bucky, who stayed seated, head bent, fists clenched.

"Tell us the rest on the way. Let's go," Steve said and squeezed Bucky's shoulder before they all hurried away and left him alone.

*

"Wheels up in three," Steve said, double-checking the ammunition reserves on the jet. They'd used up quite a lot today.

"The repairs are as done as they can be, anyway," Clint yelled from the pilot seat.

Natasha did a random yet spectacular backflip. "I hate beer," she said. "That was atrocious."

"If you say so," Sam said.

"Nat, are you good?" Steve asked seriously.

"Right now, no." She cracked her neck. "In five to ten minutes, I'll be good."

Steve nodded, trusting her assessment.

"All right," he said. "Clint, close the— Belay that." Just then Bucky walked in. Full gear, in the new leather getup Tony had made for him ages ago. The right sleeve had been fixed.

"Uh," Thor said.

Bruce grimaced and withdrew deeper into the jet. Nat sat down and fiddled with her suit and its many embellishments.

"What the hell?" Tony yelled into the comms. "Are you snacking again or something? Why aren't you in the air?"

"Ah, er, Sarge is here," Clint said awkwardly. "Looks like he means to join us."

"He's not," Steve said.

Bucky's jaw twitched. "I am."

"Cap, we don't have time for this," Tony's voice said quietly in Steve's ear. Separate channel, just for Steve. "Make a call, follow through. Make it fast."

Right. There was no time for arguments. Steve could let him come or physically throw him out. Sam was by the exit, ready to back Steve if needed. They could do it, but it would get ugly. Bucky knew that; he timed it perfectly, trying to force Steve's hand.

"Take the rear," Steve said. "Civilian extraction only. With Thor. Take it or leave it. I mean it, Buck. If this were any other mission, it would be different. They want you. You get that, right?" In a way, leaving him alone here wasn't the best plan either. No matter how secure the Tower was. It wasn't quite as safe without any of them here.

Bucky's jaw was working again, but he nodded.

"We're good here, Clint," Steve called and looked at Thor, who gave a tiny nod. Judging by his expression, he was aware he'd been given babysitting duty but wasn't about to complain.

"Don't shoot me," Thor told Bucky, who had the good sense to look contrite.

He sat down next to Natasha.

"How many knives do you have?" Steve heard her ask as he turned away and tried to settle the fear in his chest. It was making him dizzy.

"Three," Bucky said.

Natasha laughed. "I'm not drunk enough to believe that."

*

The NYPD was on site. No one else was yet.

A man in a uniform ran at them as they landed in the middle of the street.

"You can't go in!" the man yelled. "You can't go in hot. There are hostages inside. Kids."

Really. That was unnecessary. Did people think the Avengers were that volatile? Hostages were a priority.

Steve checked the man's uniform. "Lieutenant," he said. "Have they made any demands?"

"Just that you come. They called me. On my cell. Unknown number, I can't call back. But I guess they'll notice you're here." He glanced at the jet.

"How many hostiles? How many hostages?"

"Estimate is thirty hostages. Most kids got out. There are protocols for mass shootings, fortunately. I mean, not fortunately, but you know what I mean. About two dozen hostiles. They got here in those trucks." There were two armored trucks parked at the entrance. Or rather slammed into the entrance.

"What do they want?" Nat asked. "For us to surrender? In exchange for the kids?"

Not us, Steve thought. They must have wanted Bucky.

"They didn't say. They just—" the Lieutenant's cell phone rang. "Well, here we go." He stared at the screen for a moment, then gave the phone to Steve. "I guess that's for you then, Capitan."

Steve breathed in and answered. "This is Captain Rogers."

"Oh good," a female voice cooed. "I actually wanted Thor, but you'll do."

This threw Steve in for a loop. It was weird. The HYDRA heads were men. "Whatever it is you want," Steve said, "you don't need those kids to get it. Especially not all of them. You have our attention. Keep the one who's enhanced." Steve mentally apologized to the kid, but he had to negotiate. "Let the others go, and we can—"

"I need none of them," the woman said, laughing. "You want them, come and get them. We'll be waiting, though not for long. I get bored easily." She hung up.

"What?" Nat asked impatiently as Steve stared at the phone.

"She wants us to go in. Get the kids."

"As an exchange?"

"Didn't sound like it. She sounded… Unhinged."

"Wait, she?" Clint asked.

"These aren't the HYDRA heads," Bucky said. "They're super soldiers juiced up with the unstable formula. Which means they're psychotic. They don't want me; they want to destroy the Avengers. Soundly and publicly. Take out the competition, establish themselves as the new power."

"Can they do it?" Steve asked. "Realistically?" They'd taken down more than that in Milford. Fairly easily.

"Well, not hand-to-hand," Bucky said. "But these guys aren't strategists, they won't be afraid of letting things escalate. They're crazy and ruthless. My guess is, they have heavy artillery and the moment we step inside they'll start shooting and won't stop until either we or they are dead. It's an enclosed space, with a bunch of kids in the balance."

"You can't barge in," the Lieutenant said, desperate.

"We have to," Steve said. "If we don't, those kids are done for." Steve tapped the comms. "Tony, what do you have for us?"

"Uh, they're jamming me," Tony said. "From what I can't tell, the majority are in the gym. There are quite a few stragglers, but I couldn't tell you if they're baddies or goodies."

"Can you handle the stragglers on your own?"

"Sure." Tony didn't sound very sure.

"All right," Steve turned back to the team. The plan had to change. "Our best chance is speed. You know where the gym is. Thor and Nat, take the front entrance, Bucky and I will take the rear. Deal with anyone on our path, so it's not all on Tony. Sam, stand by, wait for hostage extraction, fly them out. Get Parker to help, if you can. Clint, you're the battering ram. Take the jet, throw everything you've got on my mark, right at the center. Including the green package. Go."

The Lieutenant yelled after them but then finished by yelling at someone else. "Stop them how? They're the Avengers."

"Steve?" Bucky said as they sprinted around the back. "Why are there people taking photographs of us?"

Ah, yeah. Steve was hoping Bucky hadn't noticed the reporters trying to push through the barricades to take a better shot.

"Comes with the job," Steve said, jumping over the high fence.

Bucky followed, landing gracefully by Steve's side. "They abandoned Thor and are trying to follow us."

"You're not going to get distracted here, are you?"

That got Bucky to drop the subject. "No. I'm good."

"Are you?" Steve stopped at the exit. "You say these are psycho super soldiers, that means we might just end up killing a lot of people." With a leveled look, hating himself but standing firm, he added, "You're no good to me if you hold back." Or break down.

Bucky didn't look angry nor hurt. "I know," he said, almost gently. "I don't plan to hold back. They have a bunch of kids in there. This isn't more trauma. This is absolution. I'm fighting for that with all I got. I know when to go for the kneecap and when not to."

Steve studied him. "You and Nat are obsessed with kneecaps."

"Well, it's effective." Bucky's lips twitched. "Don't worry. You got it all covered. Thor has Nat's back, Clint's safe in the jet, Sam on standby and I've got you."

Of course Bucky filtered out Steve's intent.

Steve sighed and nodded. "Let's go."

*

Steve would have to talk about this in therapy.

It wasn't right that he enjoyed fighting along side Bucky so much. More than ever in fact. When Steve was small he was angry when forced to let Bucky protect him; when he got big, he was scared when he was forced to do the same to Bucky, shove him out of the way, scared he'd lose his friend either to a bullet or resentment.

But now, they fought as one. It was exhilarating.

This was a very, very inappropriate moment for such thoughts.

Fortunately, it wasn't a distracting feeling. It actually gave him focus. Made him want to not only defeat the bad guys and save the kids, but also to survive. He hadn't felt such a need to live for a long time, ever since he woke up here.

He should probably talk about that in therapy, too.

*

They reached the gym in less than four minutes. The super soldiers who had tried to stop them failed. They were strong and crazy and brutal, but honestly had no chance against Steve and Bucky. They'd cut through them with speed and ease.

There were booming shots being fired far away. That must have been Tony. There was silence in the gym.

"Natasha, status," Steve whispered.

"Getting bored waiting for you," she said.

"Cute," Steve said, relieved. "Waiting's over. We're going in. Thor, clear the center. Now."

Bucky crashed the door and Steve charged. He was prepared for a number of scenes, including this one: every super soldier had kids in front, using them as shields.

"Thor!" Steve yelled because Thor hesitated as he and Nat crashed from the other side of the gym. Speed was everything. They could either save most of them or none of them. "Clint, now!" That didn't give Thor much time.

One of the super soldiers yelled. "If you try anything, we will—"

Shoot them, was likely the line, but the guy didn't get to say it. They didn't expect Thor to fly at the center of the gym like a hurricane, forcing everyone in his path to throw themselves aside. They didn't expect the outer wall to explode and the Quinjet to slam in right at the center, which Thor had cleared. They certainly didn't expect the Hulk to jump down from the jet's hull and snarl.

It was chaos, but it was their chaos. The four of them kept the kids out of harm's way. The HYDRA super soldiers lost their bearings and their focus. They were ready to be picked off one by one. Tony showed up and he and Sam flew the kids out. There was blood, there were injuries, the kids screamed, but there was also sticky white stuff flying everywhere, snatching guns out of the super soldiers' hands.

"Kid, what is that stuff?" Clint yelled. He'd climbed onto the jet's roof, firing arrow after arrow. "Is it coming out of you? I swear to God if it touches me—" He ducked as one of the super soldiers went flying over his head wrapped up in a white sticky substance. "So gross," Clint said.

"It's not coming out of me!" Parker yelled. "It's…" Steve caught a glimpse of him. The kid looked equal parts scared and angry. And so very young. "I had a secret identity," he bemoaned. "My Aunt's gonna kill me."

A super soldier fell next to him with a bullet hole in his forehead. Parker jumped away.

"No, he was gonna kill you," Bucky said.

Parker stared at the bodies around them, wide-eyed and pale.

This was too much for him. Too fast.

The super soldiers weren't all dead, though. Six of them had been trapped in the middle of a circle, unarmed except for their formidable strength.

"Okay, did anyone bring some big fancy handcuffs?" Tony asked. "Didn't we use those once on the Cap as a prank?"

"You did," Steve said. "I broke them."

"Right. We need better handcuffs, people. Like now."

Parker shot up the white stuff at the super soldiers, and it went all around them, binding them together in a heap, again and again, around their chests and ankles until they were snarling and spitting.

"What is that?" Tony asked, clearly impressed. The super soldiers could not break through. Although Steve suspected they'd be able to if they stopped struggling like wild animals and worked together as a team.

"It's synthetic silk," Parker said, somewhat irritated. "How would it come out of me? How would that work?"

"I've seen weirder, kid," Clint said.

"Okay, wild observation here," Sam said. "These guys are psychotic."

Just then their struggling made them topple over.

"Hey!" Natasha yelled. "Where are the guys that made you?" She looked up. "Did anyone see the top three guys?"

"Nope," Tony said. "Not here. J.A.R.V.I.S. broke through the interference, scanned the place. No sign of the three heads."

"You can't stop us!" one of the super soldiers yelled. "We are the future! We're the evolution! We're the tide that will sweep—"

"For god's sake, kid, do something!" Tony said.

"Not if you keep calling me kid," Parker said.

"We will break this planet and rebuild it in our im—umph!"

"Will you shut up," Parker snapped and in seconds all the super soldiers had their mouths sealed shut.

Natasha grinned at Steve. "Okay, that babysitting gig? I'm in."

"Is that about me?" Parker demanded. "I don't need a babysitter. I'm fifteen. Almost."

"Wow," Clint said. "He's, like… born in this century."

"No, man," Sam said, frowning. "Babies born in this century are still in their cradles. Aren't they?"

"Wait, what year is this?" Nat asked.

Steve was smiling, almost relaxed, but some part of him seemed to have been attuned to Bucky, kept him in sight even when Steve wasn't looking. That was how he noticed a small pinprick of darkness a second before it exploded into a portal directly behind Bucky.

Steve was too far. There was no time…

Just as a blue electrical coil wrapped around Bucky's neck, Mjolnir flew into Steve's hand. Steve hadn't even properly thought it out. Bucky was being yanked away, screaming in pain, a voice cackled, "Thanks, Cap, for getting rid of the crazies for us," and Steve sent the Mjolnir crashing at the opening.

The portal snapped shut, but the hammer got through a split-second before.

Bucky was gone.

*

"Why—?" Thor could not finish his question; he got choked up. "My hammer. How— Why would you throw my hammer?"

Steve wanted to explain, say there was no time, and his shield wasn't an enchanted alien artifact with a good chance to make it through the closing portal, and in those horrible five seconds, Steve thought he could throw it in time to stop the man who had Bucky trapped. He could say nothing, though. Do nothing. Think nothing. Bucky was gone, in a blink of an eye. And Steve couldn't possibly know where. They would torture him, wipe him, after everything Bucky had fought for.

"Steve. Steve," Natasha said urgently.

Steve couldn't speak. He didn't even know what she wanted. Whatever it was, he couldn't. He couldn't handle this. There was nothing they could do. Bucky was lost.

"Tony." Nat was still speaking. "Did J.A.R.V.I.S. scan this thing? What the hell was it? Where did it take him?"

"Yes, J.A.R.V.I.S. fucking scanned it. How could that help? It's a portal. It's magic, it's alien, I don't know anything about this."

"Thor!" Natasha yelled. "Forget the fucking hammer. What was this?"

"I— a portal. To another realm."

"Oh, for fuck's sake. We know that."

"Wait, wait," Tony said. "But they're in New York, right here. I told you, J.A.R.V.I.S. found them."

"If they have a portal, then they can be anywhere by now," Thor said. "Perhaps their arrival to New York was a ruse. Perhaps they merely wanted our attention. So we would destroy these soldiers they cannot control, and they would get a chance to seize their prize."

Jesus. That was true. They had fallen into this trap so easily.

"Bucky still has his tracker," Tony said, his voice unsteady. "He'll activate it. Any second now."

"Okay, sure… but…" Natasha's breathing was heavy. She was trying so hard not to panic. So was Tony. Steve was way past that. He couldn't feel his limbs.

"Does no one else think that portal looked familiar?" Nat asked. "I feel like I—"

The portal reopened. Just like that, with a whoosh of air and a spread of darkness.

Bucky crossed over, carefully, eyebrows raised. There was blood on his face, his lips, his temple.

It had to be some sort of dream. Steve was losing his mind.

"What the—" Tony said. "What the fuck is happening?"

But then that meant… they saw Bucky, too. It wasn't just Steve's imagination.

"Uh…" Bucky grimaced, touching his lip. "Well, there were only three of them, and one had his skull cracked open — nice shot, Steve — and I think they didn't realize how much pain I can take, thanks to their training. So, I fought them off. Oh, and there was this thing." He lifted a small alien-looking device. "It had a big red button with the word Open on it. God, secondhand embarrassment is hitting me hard right now."

"That's not English," Thor said. "It only appears this way. It's alien technology, translated by a—"

Just then an enormous beast appeared in the portal. Bucky barely had time to jump out of its way as it lunged, straight at Thor.

Mjolnir rushed after it, right at Thor's hand, and as Thor spun it, Steve's mind snapped out of its shock. He jumped, twirled his body to give power to the movement, and raised his shield just as Thor's hammer swung. The beast's head was crushed between them. They heard it crack before the huge body hit the floor.

The Hulk snarled and jumped on him, kicking with his legs. Maybe it wasn't even necessary.

"The Kavamgabur Bali Kah," Thor yelled. "Have I not said we must catch this creature? It found allies in HYDRA."

"Sure," Nat said shakily. "You totally predicted this sequence of events."

"Ugh, get this thing off me," Bucky complained, trying to pull off white sticky webbing from his metal arm. Steve thought Bucky had jumped away from the portal, but clearly Parker was the one who had snatched him to safety. Steve would have to thank the kid later.

Later, because right now Steve had another thing to do. With three big strides, he crossed the distance, ignored Bucky's cry of "Whoa, there, big guy, easy," and nearly crushed Bucky with his hug, nearly smothered him with kisses. He was breaking rules, 'no making Bucky feel trapped,' but he couldn't stop himself. Fortunately, Bucky only laughed when Steve let him breathe.

"Jesus, Cap," Tony spluttered. "I'm blushing here. Someone cover that kid's eyes."

"Right, Mr. Stark, because that part will give me nightmares."

"It'll give me nightmares," Tony muttered. "Looks like he's gonna eat him."

Steve sobered up enough to stop assaulting Bucky, but not enough to let him out of his grip.

"Hey, that guy moved," Steve heard Nat saying. "Check for vital signs. This woman, too."

Bless her, she was distracting others.

Steve swallowed past the tightness of his throat. "I thought—"

"Shhh," Bucky said. "I'm okay. I'm really okay." But he was hurt. And then Steve had messed up that split lip further. Bucky was smiling, though. "Knowing you were waiting here, worrying… They never stood a chance."

Steve smiled, even as he got choked up.

"Well, I mean…" Bucky frowned. "If that giant alien showed up earlier, I'd be doing my best impression of a pancake right about now. He'd definitely have a chance. I got lucky there."

"We deserved some good luck," Steve said. "Just don't scare me like that again."

"I can't realistically promise that, pal. Especially if I end up going on more missions." Bucky paused as though waiting for Steve to argue against that.

"I know," Steve said. He wanted to keep Bucky safe in an impenetrable bubble, but he also wanted to fight by his side. This was Steve's problem to deal with. Bucky was free to do what he wanted.

Bucky smiled. "I can promise I'll always fight like crazy to come back to you. Now more than ever."

That was just… Steve wanted to kiss him again, but if he did that, he might not be able to stop.

He wished he could ignore the noise and voices around them, but they couldn't do this here anymore. Reluctantly, he stepped back, which apparently Tony was waiting for.

"Done yet? Jesus." He snatched the alien device from Bucky's hand. "The military is on its way. I don't want this getting in the wrong hands."

Steve swept the scene. Clint and Parker were watching the prisoners, Sam was draping a blanket over Banner's shoulders, and Thor and Nat stepped out of the portal, dragging the three HYDRA heads. Or rather, Thor was dragging them and Nat followed. The three super soldiers were still alive, all of them groaning, one with a bloody head, one with broken legs and several stab wounds, and one with bloody kneecaps. That had been a short but very brutal fight. But Bucky hadn't killed them. That was why he looked so proud of himself, not for escaping, but for making this choice and succeeding anyway.

"That lair is in New York," Nat said. "You can close it up. We'll get to it after. There's more alien technology in there."

"Big red button is a go," Tony said, pressed the button and the portal closed. "Eh. I hate simple user interfaces." The device disappeared somewhere in the suit, and Tony rather violently grabbed Bucky and pulled him away. Steve almost jumped to Bucky's defense, but Tony waved him off, hissing in Bucky's ear. "What's the point of that tracker? You're supposed to turn it on the second things go south."

"There wasn't time…."

"There wasn't time," Tony mocked in a sing-song voice. "No time to tap your arm three times? Really? Really?"

Nat tugged at Steve's arm, distracting him. "Don't do that again, okay?" She stared at him "Don't freeze up. I can't handle that. It's not like you. Just, act first, then deal with feelings."

"Noted," Steve said. "Sorry. Though, I did act first."

She snorted. "Right. The hammer. You taking over Asgard, then?" she asked loudly.

Thor released the super soldiers he'd been hauling with a thump. "That is not… There is more to it. You cannot rule… My father…" Thor seemed positively concerned.

"It's fine, Thor," Steve said. "I'm officially denouncing the throne. Abdicating. Whatever."

Thor looked only partially mollified. "You cannot take my hammer. You may borrow it if you ask, but you cannot take it and throw it at random portals."

"Understood. I will never do it again," Steve said solemnly because Thor was much too distraught and Steve was afraid he might actually cry.

Relieved, Thor laughed and clasped Steve's shoulder. Steve tried not to buckle. "Very well! But we shall use it in battle together. I'll make sure to throw it your way sometimes."

Steve grimaced at Thor's back as Thor turned around and picked up the super soldiers to take them to Parker.

"Was that a threat?" Steve asked Natasha.

"Pretty sure, yeah," she said. "Your worthiness. I knew you could swing that thing."

"It's not that heavy," Steve joked, eyes on Parker and his pale face. "That kid needs a moment."

"I got it," Nat said as military helicopters started circling. "Go get your moment." She jerked her chin at Bucky, who was finally freed from Tony's grip and incessant lecturing by Rhodey's arrival.

"Thanks," Steve said, grateful and smiling too widely.

She walked off, eye rolling and smiling, and Steve caught Bucky's gaze.

*

They were sitting on a roof of a nearby building, legs dangling over the edge. The others were long gone, took the Quinjet, took the kid, took time to unwind, crack jokes, probably at Steve and Bucky's expense.

Down at the scene, the military was rounding up the super soldiers, all of them tightly bound. It didn't look like there would be trouble, but Steve and Bucky were ready to jump in, or rather down, if necessary.

"Feels good?" Steve asked.

Bucky was watching the three heads being loaded onto armored trucks.

"Doesn't feel bad," Bucky said. "I mean, it's not the end of bad guys, I'm aware. Whether they call themselves HYDRA or whatever. But the ones giving orders, the ones following them through, all those years, I think they're all gone." He pursed his lips. "Losers."

"You know…" Steve grinned. "Heart-stopping moments that we'll have to talk about in therapy aside, this was a good day."

Bucky snorted, then looked at him. His expression went soft. "I never saw you do that before," he said much to Steve's confusion. "Smile this much," Bucky clarified. "It's nice."

"Apparently once you start, you can't stop. No one warned me."

Bucky leaned in, to kiss him probably.

Steve pulled back. "No, your lip."

"Oh, now you care?" Bucky laughed, then wrapped his metal fingers around the back of Steve's neck. "You're worth a lot of pain, pal. And this will be a twinge, if that."

That was good enough for Steve. Bucky kissed him slow, deep, the rest of the world vanished.

But then Bucky pulled back and started getting up. "I think this morning's entertainment is over," he said, glancing at the street below. "Come on, I wanna blow you."

Steve laughed, blushing on cue. "Oh my god." He got up, though.

"Yeah, Mr. Modest, all shy now. You got us going earlier in front of everyone. We'll never live that down."

They could live it down, but not if Steve did it again. Which he probably would.

There was a chopper overhead. Not military. Reporters.

Bucky looked up at it. "Wanna give them a show?"

"Uh," Steve said, but Bucky was already grabbing him and pulling him close. Steve cooperated and even bent Bucky backward a little as he ravaged his mouth.

Bucky laughed at the theatrical display when they pulled away.

"Front page, for sure." Steve said.

"Probably not," Bucky said, pulling him toward the door to the roof. "I flipped them off behind your back."

Steve could not stop laughing.