Archive of Our Own ^beta

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    He didn’t like to think about that fateful day, but he’d be lying if if he said the memory hadn’t plagued his thoughts constantly in the three years since he’d come out of the ice. Sometimes it came in pieces. A mission. A train slicing through the mountains. The phantom chill of the icy air caressing his neck. The click of a handgun fresh out of ammunition. An impossibly steep cliff, so tall he couldn’t make out the river below. Worst of all, the scream that he still felt in his core whenever his brain replayed it. The sound of the most crucial failure. Failure to save the one person who had saved him time and time again.

    The pain had been unimaginable. It burrowed deep into his chest, establishing a permanent residence, an inky black coating that claimed his heart. He’d wished it had been him. Maybe that’s what he’d been thinking as he pointed the nose of the plane straight into the ocean. Maybe he’d hoped to get one more glimpse of those deep blue eyes, to be scolded one last time for doing something reckless, to be dragged out of an alley by his collar scowling and insisting that he “had him on the ropes.” Maybe he’d just been hoping for peace.

    Either way, he’d been wrong. That much was clear the second he stepped into Times Square. After everything he’d witnessed in the war, suddenly waking up in the future, while shocking, was somehow believable. Hell, even the aliens and so-called gods somehow made sense. It was crazy, sure, but after the miracle that was the super soldier serum, it seemed like anything was in the realm of possibility.

    Well, almost anything.

    Because absolutely nothing could have prepared him for what happened on the highway a mere two years later.

    Some part of him had recognized those eyes the moment he got a good look at them, but he hadn’t let himself believe it until the mask had come off. Even then, the rational part of his mind had its doubts. Until he spoke. The sound had radiated all the way into Steve’s bones and suddenly he was bedridden in Brooklyn again with that same voice urging him to please stay in bed and rest for one goddamn minute. When he came back to the present, Sam had knocked Bucky(?) to the ground and before he knew it, Steve found himself on his knees, awaiting an execution that didn’t come.

    As the pieces fell into place and he poured over every scrap of information he could find in that file, something new grew to accompany the familiar black around his heart. A burning red anger. Together they forged a deadly invisible knife that buried itself in his chest. Time didn’t help. Even through all the days and nights spent searching, working himself to exhaustion more than a few times. Even through Sam convincing him to try a new approach by landing in Brooklyn and being patient to see if Bucky would find his way to them instead. The knife was just as sharp as it had been when it first pierced his chest. After their first month back in New York, he was starting to think that it might never disappear.

    Until it did.

Chapter Text

    Bucky bit back a shiver as he removed his right glove and carefully pressed his hand against the glass of the window, nudging it to slide upward. He’d triple checked that he’d left it unlocked upon leaving, but he was thankful to see that hadn’t changed. Not that he’d expected it to, but the space wasn’t technically his, so he never knew when the landlord would make a surprise visit. Fortunately, that was a rare occurrence, which is exactly why he’d picked the place. The apartment building was considerably run-down and the staff were apathetic, which was extremely convenient, considering that he was inhabiting an empty unit without their knowledge. The water wasn’t exactly crystal clear and the walls seemed to be covered in a permanent layer of grime, but it was a roof over his head. That wasn’t anything to complain about, especially in the bitter middle of winter.

    He was thankful that the weather made it easier to blend in and use his wardrobe to hide any unusual features without raising suspicion, but it always came with a chill he couldn’t quite shake until spring. He was used to it, but that didn’t make it any less unpleasant when the titanium plates in his arm neared the temperature of the ice on the ground. He found himself once again wishing that Steve had chosen somewhere warmer to search for him. Brooklyn made sense though. A few lifetimes ago, it was home.

    But did they have to move here in January? Bucky thought to himself as he silently climbed through the window. Fortunately, he could see just fine in the dark, so he didn’t bother with any lightswitches as he began his routine sweep of the space, checking the locks on any potential entry sites and ensuring that there were no other signs of life. Finding none, he crept into the windowless bedroom and slid the tattered backpack of his few belongings off his shoulder. Once his hands were free, he removed the knit beanie sitting atop his head and brought his fingers up to gently massage the base of the ears it had been camouflaging. He paused one last time to listen for any hint of unwanted company before cautiously pulling his tail up and over his waistband, freeing it from the confines of his pant leg. The relief was instantaneous.

    The rest of the night passed quietly. Bucky sped through a few chapters of the latest book he’d picked out from the take-one-leave-one library down the street. Fortunately, some of the other patrons seemed to share his affinity for science fiction and there was usually something available that piqued his interest enough to borrow. It was nice to escape reality for a bit, even if he kept an ear trained on the door the whole time he read. Chapters flew by, killing time. Every once in a while, a word would jog some sense of familiarity that he hadn’t yet encountered and he’d write down anything he could remember in one of his notebooks. It was the closest thing Bucky had to a quiet evening, but even so, he had a hard time fully relaxing. Even after nearly a year, resting felt reckless. With his luck, the minute he let his guard down would be the minute that whatever threat was lurking on the horizon would happen to strike.

    Bucky had his limits though, and he must have reached one because at some point, he nodded off. It was a blessing whenever the sleep came quietly. The nightmares made sure that he didn’t get a lot of shut-eye. He knew it wasn’t the best practice, but he did his best to stay awake as much as he could. Being asleep left him vulnerable, physically and mentally, a risk he preferred not to take more often than necessary. However, he found comfort in the fact that he was a very light sleeper, thanks to his freakishly enhanced hearing. That was a trait that came in handy more often than he’d admit.

    Like the next morning, for example, when he woke to the sound of the landlord and a maintenance worker approaching from down the hall. Shit.

    He didn’t wait to confirm that they were coming to his unit. Instantly, he sprang into action, grabbing his things and silently assuming his usual hiding spot on the fire escape. He left the window unlocked, but made sure to close the blinds to avoid drawing attention. Heart racing, he sat next to the window with his back to the bricks. His spot was just outside the sight line of the window, but close enough that he could hear through the thin glass.

    Worst case scenario would have been being spotted. What actually happened though, was the second worst case scenario. Bucky only needed to hear the first few lines of conversation to know why they were there - to survey the space for necessary fixes before the next tennant arrived in one week. He stifled a groan and leaned his head back against the wall. His mind was already racing, calculating the possibilities for his next move. Obviously, he needed somewhere new to go. It wouldn’t be easy. Finding a vacant apartment anywhere in New York was like searching for the holy grail. He’d been unbelievably lucky to find this place after a week and a half of surveillance, and the thought of returning to the miserable cold until he found somewhere new filled him with dread. He racked his brain trying to remember any other possible locations.

    Instead, he was reminded of another option that had been intermittently nagging at his mind. Maybe he didn’t have to stick around New York at all. It hardly felt like the home it was supposed to be. He hadn’t seriously considered going elsewhere, out of hesitance to leave Steve’s shadow. After all, Steve was the only thing he truly felt he knew from his life before, and he’d been clinging to that ever since that familiar voice shook something loose in his foggy head. But from what he’d seen, Steve seemed to be doing just fine on his own. Maybe it was time for both of them to let go.

    The idea of finding his own path had come to him one evening when he was parked in front of a library computer, learning more information about Sam Wilson than he probably should have been able to find. Despite how out of place he felt in this decade, Bucky was quite proficient with technology. HYDRA had made sure of that. He didn’t often employ those particular skills these days, but some part of him wondered just how much damage they might be able to do. He didn’t consider himself a vengeful person, and he certainly wasn’t eager to voluntarily engage in violent acts again, but he’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about making them pay for what they did to him. Aside from Steve, the only thing stopping him was the fact that they could incapacitate him with a few words if he were to waltz into the nearest base ready to fight. But physical interference didn’t have to be the only way. As he’d stared blankly at the monitor in front of him, it had dawned on him that there might be another less-confrontational way to cause some damage.

    He’d toyed around with the idea a few times when he got particularly bored while monitoring Steve, but something always stopped him. He’d fallen into a bit of a routine in Brooklyn so the concept had been shelved. He thought maybe he’d get around to it when something changed. And here change was, knocking on his door with an unsolicited wake-up call.

    The only problem was that Steve was still actively looking for him. Bucky chewed on that for a moment. If Steve kept searching to no avail, he might get desperate and do something stupid. Or worse, he might actually find Bucky.

    A wild thought stopped him in his tracks: would it really be so bad if Steve did find him? Maybe he should–

    No. Absolutely not.

    But what if…?

    At the very least, he could leave Steve a note. Just to let him know he’s ok and that he doesn’t need to keep searching. Coward, Bucky thought to himself. A note would be a total cop-out. No way things could go sideways, but also no way things could go right. Besides, Steve deserved more than that. Nobody asked him to go through hell to look for Bucky. The least Bucky could do was talk to him.

    He couldn’t really consider that though, right? It was a ridiculous idea, but Bucky let himself entertain the thought for just a moment. Maybe he should pay them a visit. Just to let Steve know he was okay. Relatively okay, anyway. But who knew if they’d let him in? The thought alone had him on-edge for a few reasons. First, the last time Steve saw Bucky was on the helicarrier when he’d been one well-placed blow away from ending his life. Bucky hadn’t felt any urge to harm Steve since, but he couldn’t be sure that the Soldier’s programming wasn’t still in him, laying dormant somewhere. He also had no idea how Steve would react, given their last meeting. Second, if he wasn’t planning to stick around, would it really do Steve any good to see him again? To put it bluntly, Bucky was a mess. Definitely not the man Steve knew him as. Not anymore. And then of course, there was the fact that he now came with some freakish additions. If his history wasn’t enough to send Steve running, that most certainly would.

    Bucky sighed. His thoughts shifted back and forth, waging war inside his head as he sat on the fire escape, even long after he’d heard the landlord leave. When he finally crept back inside, he found himself no closer to a decision. He clenched his fists, frustrated. As nice as it was to make his own choices, there was something simpler about calculating the next step when emotions weren’t involved. Sure, it was barbaric and cold, but simpler.

    Eventually, he’d had enough. The choice wasn’t clear, but he still had a week to make it. So, he pushed aside any attempt at planning and instead set his focus to the day ahead. The watch on his right wrist told him that he had plenty of time to make it to catch Steve and Sam just after their usual morning run. It was Thursday, which meant that they’d likely stop in for a quick breakfast at the cafe closest to their apartment building before Sam set off for the group therapy session he led at the VA and Steve found somewhere quiet to bury himself once again in his search.

    Bucky strode into the cafe about ten minutes before he expected them to arrive. He put on his best well-adjusted-adult-human expression and ordered a coffee. The caffeine wouldn’t do much for his metabolism, but the cup served as a necessary prop, allowing him to blend in seamlessly. He selected a perch toward the back corner, just out of view of the door. Steve and Sam usually chose a table with better escape routes. Bucky didn’t love that they stood between him and the exit, but at least the setup allowed for him to go unnoticed. It was easy to hide behind his hat and a pair of sunglasses, bury his nose in a book, and appear oblivious to the rest of the world while he listened very carefully. The key was to appear busy and unapproachable, paying full attention without looking like it.

    As if on cue, he picked up on the voices he’d been waiting for. Sam and Steve walked through the door and approached the counter. As they placed their order, they were polite as always, but something was off. Bucky resisted the urge to look as he noticed that their tone, specifically Steve’s, didn’t seem as genuine as usual. Something was bothering him. What that something was became clear as soon as they took their seats and resumed their conversation.

    “I just don’t think it’s the right time to give up, Sam,” Steve sighed into his coffee. “He’s still out there, I just know it.”

    Oh, great. It’s about me. Bucky thought to himself as he kept his eyes trained on his book, turning the page though he hadn’t actually read any of it.

    “All I’m saying is that we’ve been at this for almost a year. Don’t you think if he wanted to be found, we’d have found him already? Think about it. The guy is a master assassin, he knows how to hide.” Sam replied.

    “But what if that’s not it? What if something happened or they got him back and he needs help?” Steve said quietly, keeping his voice low and his gaze on the table. “I can’t let that happen to him again.”

    Oh. Bucky felt himself tense up at Steve’s worry-and-guilt-ridden tone. So this definitely warrants more than a note.

    Sam, who, from what Bucky had gathered, seemed to share at least some of Steve’s insanely heroic nature, didn’t have a response to that. Instead, he simply said, “Okay.”

    They stayed silent for a moment before picking up conversation on more mundane topics, leaving Bucky once again lost in his tangled thoughts. Every once in a while, he’d sneak a glance at Steve and each time, all he could see was the pain he was trying to mask behind jokes and sheepish smiles. Pain for Bucky.

    That made Bucky feel incredibly guilty. It also made his decision for him. Well, at least part of his decision. He was going to see Steve. He could figure out the next step after the fact. He still had time to decide where to go, but he couldn’t let himself inflict this pain on Steve for another day. He’d decided that even before Sam and Steve left the café.

    He strolled out the door not too long after them, his mind already forming a plan. Steve and Sam would likely not return home until that evening. They would be separated for the majority of the day, which could be an advantage, but that would involve a public meeting. Given the twinge of fear in Bucky’s stomach at that thought, he immediately rejected the idea. It was better to meet with Steve privately. So, the best bet would be to go directly to the apartment he shared with Sam. Bucky chuckled bitterly at the thought of himself casually knocking on the front door. Their apartment was significantly nicer than the one he’d been loitering in, so he’d be obviously out of place there. People remembered things that were out of place, so an alternative entrance would be preferred to minimize attention drawn. He thought more about their building. There was a fire escape that happened to be accessible from their living room window, and fortunately for Bucky, vice versa.

    Again, Steve and Sam likely wouldn’t be home until the evening, but even then, it would be prudent to wait until most of the neighbors had gone to sleep. Being noticed by any bystanders was the last thing he wanted. Bucky ran through the details of his plan once more before deciding he was satisfied. With that, he discarded his cup from the café and set off to wander until nightfall. Hopefully, killing time wouldn’t be too grueling with all the nerves he had about seeing Steve.

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    At long last, the time came. He’d stopped by his apartment to rest a bit and triple check that he hadn’t left anything behind, before starting toward Steve and Sam’s fire escape. With each step, he felt electrified, nervous in a way he usually didn’t get when it came to stealthy rendezvous missions. However, those missions weren’t usually this unpredictable. He scaled the fire escape nearly silently and with ease, and before he knew it, he’d reached his destination. He paused to take a deep breath and gather whatever shred of confidence he could find.

    As Bucky reached toward the glass, prepared to tap his knuckles on it, clutching the beanie in his other hand, he caught sight of his reflection. Before he could resist, he locked eyes with it. Tired blue eyes stared back, their pupils wide and oddly-shaped like a cat’s. As far as he could tell, their color hadn’t changed, but something about their inhuman shape made the blue irises seem more striking, especially when the pupils narrowed to nothing more than slits. Bucky contemplated their strange appearance and tried to conjure a memory of what they had looked like before. Finding little success, he slowly shifted his gaze upward. Dark shoulder-length hair framed his face in messy waves, atop which sat a pair of pointed, fuzzy ears, identical in color to his hair, except for the small tufts of lighter hair and pink skin that covered the insides. As Bucky stared at them, he felt a small pit starting to open in his stomach as he thought more about the situation he currently found himself in. The ears lowered a bit, turning slightly outward as they sunk.

    As if not to be upstaged, Bucky’s tail bristled against his leg. Once again, he found himself frustrated. The stupid thing had a mind of its own. And as if that wasn’t hard to control, the hair on it had an embarrassing tendency to poof up whenever he got too anxious or upset. Which, of course, was often. He’d stuffed the tail down a pant leg for this outing. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but that was something he could deal with. He knew all too well that there were things worse than discomfort. Still, ensuring that the appendage wasn’t visible came at the cost of being able to physically forget its presence. He reflected on his earliest days with it, which held many failed attempts at finding the most comfortable, yet effective way to hide it.

    It hadn’t exactly been a gradual change for him. Instead, it had happened in the blink of an eye. One minute, he had been surrounded by bone-freezing cold as the world went dark, and the next he was shrouded in harsh light and commotion. Everything was too loud and bright and overwhelming, as if the world had been dialed up to 10 on all fronts. Alien sensations invaded his perception as parts of his scalp…shifted? He started to reach up to investigate, but found his wrist restrained. Everything felt wrong and confusing. Panic set in and he violently pulled his wrist upward. The restraint didn’t give. He repeated the action, ignoring the pain as he struggled desperately to free himself and get away from the blaring voices and blinding light. It was then that he became aware of something thrashing against his left leg. For a moment, he thought he was being attacked, until he realized that he could feel the other side of the thrashing, the sensation radiating upward, tethered to his spine. Forcing his eyes wide, he looked down and quickly fixed his eyes on the source of the feeling - something’s tail was touching him. It wasn’t right. Why could he feel it? Covered in brown fur, it clearly belonged to an animal, yet it seemed to be attached to him, right at the base of his tailbone. At least, that’s where the new sensation stopped. Confused, he tested something, willing the tail to move. It responded. All remaining grogginess fled his body in an instant. A scream left his lips as he thrusted upward with his right wrist again. Pain bloomed as something snapped. He wasn’t sure if it was his wrist or the restraint. Maybe both. The pain found a new home in his left shoulder as he repeated the action with his metal wrist. This time, the source of the snap was clear. He registered bodies in front of him and violently shoved them away as he leapt to his feet, ready to run. But before he could take the first step, there was a stinging sensation in the side of his neck. The world faded away to the sound of his head hitting the unforgiving floor.

    Bucky came back to himself then, pulled from the memory to where he was standing. On Steve Rogers’ fire escape. Looking like an idiot, with his clawed hand stretched out to tap on the glass as if it were 1928 and he was sneaking over to read with Steve after curfew. He suddenly felt colossally stupid. When he had first seen himself like this, he had promptly freaked the fuck out. His hand snapped back to his side and he took a step back from the window. Steve couldn’t see him like this. He may be looking for Bucky, but no one was looking for this. If he wanted to be anywhere near Steve again, he’d have to look like the Bucky that Steve knew, not the monster that had taken that man’s place.

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Thank you so much for reading! Check out this art made for this chapter by @thatartistaj on instagram 

Chapter Text

     The walk home was shameful, to say the least. What the hell is wrong with you, Barnes? Have you lost your mind? Bucky thought to himself. Well, maybe that’s not a fair question. Still, how could he have let this fantastical lapse in judgment get him all the way to Steve’s fire escape, just standing there completely exposed? Had the cybernetic arm finally fried a circuit in his brain? 

     He’d been so lucky that he hadn’t been spotted. The Winter Soldier was nothing if not stealthy. And calculated. And never ever would have done something so reckless. 

     It scared him that he’d been so close to taking such a big risk and letting Steve see him like this. He’d been so careful about staying under the radar, completely undetected; yet he’d nearly shattered all of it just now. He hadn’t even had a plan beyond knocking. Granted, there wasn’t really a script for this situation. 

      Bucky hurried through the street and slipped back into his own apartment through the window. He paced for a while before sitting down and reopening the novel he’d been reading, though he barely paid attention to the words. Instead, he was lost in thought, replaying Steve’s face from the café. Though they hadn’t really spoken in seventy-some years, Bucky had immediately picked up on the look in his eye. It was a special kind of sad he’d only seen a handful of times from Steve. And Bucky was the only person who could fix it. No pressure. He groaned and let his head fall against the wall behind him. 

He’d need a more tactful approach. He had to talk to Steve, but he most certainly couldn’t talk to Steve like this. If he wanted it to go well, he’d have to be the Bucky that Steve remembered. Not the Winter Soldier, and definitely not whoever he was today. 

          HYDRA had hidden Bucky’s feline features with things like goggles and a tactical beanie, which were fine for fooling the average person. But this wasn’t just anyone. It was Steve. And Steve had known Bucky for pretty much forever. Bucky would need a better disguise to keep his secret, something that evoked nostalgia and appeared decidedly American - something that clearly said, ‘Hey it’s me, your old pal from before the war, not the brainwashed assassin you saw last time, promise.’ As for headwear, a baseball cap would do nicely. He’d pick one up from a thrift store in the morning. Of course, the metal arm wouldn’t help either. But they already knew about that, and there wasn’t much he could do about it anyway. He’d just wear long sleeves as usual. Perhaps, if visible, it would even give Steve something to focus on and distract him from looking too closely at anything else. 

     The eyes and the claws would be trickier. Last April, Bucky’s eyes had looked different enough that Steve hadn’t recognized him until the mask was off. After that, Steve had only seen Bucky up close in direct hand-to-hand combat, during which, Bucky imagined his pupils must have been blown wide with the kill, the mission. That would’ve made it harder to recognize them as strange. Instead, he’d probably just looked like a startled human. Now though, he’d be meeting Steve up close, and goggles weren’t going to cut it. Sunglasses would only make sense outside and during the day; otherwise there would be questions. 

      In addition to the changes to his eyes, Bucky’s right hand had developed sharp, thick, claw-like nails that fell somewhere between human fingernails and actual cat claws. He supposed that if he filed them, perhaps they’d more closely resemble regular ol’ fingers, just weathered a little from use. HYDRA had chosen to leave the claws alone, encouraging their use as another weapon in their Asset’s arsenal. To match, the metal hand had been modified to feature retractable titanium claws. If Bucky could stay calm and keep the metal claws from extending, that wouldn’t be too much of an issue. 

     He thought back on anything else he could remember about missions involving disguises, racking his brain to find anything remotely useful. HYDRA hadn’t worried too much about the details when outfitting the Asset. As long as his feline features were mostly concealed, they weren’t too concerned. Most of the people who met him didn’t live to tell the tale anyway.

     When Bucky could no longer think about disguises or Steve, he took a seat on the carpet and pulled out a sketchbook and a pencil. He wasn’t an artist by any means (that had always been Steve’s skill), but he’d recently taken up the hobby of documenting whatever he could remember about the logistics of HYDRA and details about their bases. He wasn’t sure what he’d use this for, but he’d come to terms with the fact that the anger he had about everything they’d done to him or made him do wasn’t going to go away any sooner than his ears or his tail. So, healthy or not, he channeled that anger into forming a plan for some sort of revenge, just in case. How fitting it would be if the deadly Asset they created became their downfall. And, even if nothing else materialized from these efforts, Bucky had been able to remember the locations for a few HYDRA safe houses, which he’d promptly raided for any usable funds or food before destroying everything else. 

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     When the morning came, Bucky set off and made quick work of his errands, first stopping at a nearby thrift store to grab a few baseball caps and other miscellaneous garments. The old Bucky had been quite fond of the color blue, so he was sure to keep that in mind while browsing. 

     As expected, finding a solution for his eyes was a bit more difficult. Fortunately, Bucky was able to do some research on a library computer that pointed him to a kitschy little store in Manhattan that focused primarily on costume materials. Inside, he came across a pair of blue contacts similar enough to his old eyes to be believable. They weren’t perfect, but they’d do the job. If anyone noticed anything off, he figured he could explain any change as the result of HYDRA’s work without going too far into detail. 

     Finally, and much to his chagrin, Bucky found himself standing outside a small pet store in Brooklyn. It looked about as old as he was, but it had a certain charm to it. More importantly, the selection appeared sufficient for his needs. He quickly located the grooming supplies and plucked a heavy-duty automatic file from the shelf. As Bucky turned to leave, he noticed something next to the files that he didn’t expect to catch his eye. There were a few different kinds of brushes. He hadn’t put much thought into it because the tail was relatively easy to hide, but it would often get matted. A flush of embarrassment flooded Bucky’s cheeks as he took an involuntary step toward the brushes. 

     Determined to spend as little time in the pet store as possible, he quickly read the labels and zeroed in on the brush he was looking for, entitled a “slicker-style brush for cats with medium-length fur.” Bucky snatched it from the shelf and hurried to the small counter at the front of the store. He put on his best totally-a-normal-human-being smile and paid for his items (with HYDRA’s money, of course). 

     Wares collected, Bucky hurried back to his apartment to assemble his disguise. He started with the claws, filing them over the bathroom sink to reduce their length and shape them more like standard human fingernails. He hesitated for only a moment before then pulling the brush from his bag, making quick work of combing out the knots and matting on his tail. Bucky didn’t want to admit it to himself, but it felt nice brushing the tail–soothing, almost. 

     Not quite ready to spend much time on that train of thought, Bucky finished the task and tucked the brush back into his backpack. He placed it with the file, deep in the bag, under his small collection of clothes and notebooks. 

     The contacts took a few tries, but Bucky was able to successfully place them. It was a strange sensation, and his vision was now blurred a bit, which he didn’t love, but it was tolerable. A brief change of clothes later, and Bucky found himself back in front of the mirror one more time to take in the full look. He took a deep breath before meeting his reflection’s stare. 

     To his surprise, it wasn’t half bad. If he didn’t know any better, Bucky wasn’t sure he’d even give himself a second glance if he were a stranger passing by on the street.

     “Well,” Bucky muttered to himself in the mirror. “Almost human, I guess.”

     Satisfied, Bucky scanned the empty apartment one final time to ensure he wasn’t leaving behind any trace. Once his check was complete, all there was left to do was wait for the sun to set.

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     Nearly 24-hours on the dot after his first attempt, Bucky found himself once again standing in the same position on Steve Rogers’ fire escape. This time though, he took one last deep breath and rapped his metal knuckles against the glass before any second thought could stop him. 

     A moment of agonizing silence passed with a few conflicting ideas of self-doubt and knocking again, and then…

     The curtain drew back to reveal Steve, up close and poised to defend, the shield clutched in his hand. His eyes went wide as they met Bucky’s own. Bucky held up his hands in surrender to convey peaceful intentions. Steve blinked in disbelief for a moment before he came back to himself and unlocked the window, sliding it open. He stepped back, giving Bucky space to climb inside the apartment. 

     “Hi,” Bucky said, his pulse pounding in his ears as he righted himself. He stood, staying close to the window, not daring to take another step. 

     “Bucky?” Steve asked in disbelief, eerily similar to the way he’d asked it on the highway nearly a year ago. 

     “Yeah,” Bucky said quietly, nodding. His voice broke on the word as he found himself strangely overcome by emotion. A thousand memories of Steve played simultaneously in his head.

     Before he could say anything else, Steve had dropped the shield and pulled Bucky into an embrace. Surprised, Bucky went completely still. This was not the reaction he’d expected. He peered over Steve’s shoulder, meeting Sam’s eyes the moment he entered the room. Sam also stopped dead in his tracks. Bucky wasn’t sure what to do, so he offered a small wave of his metal hand in Sam’s direction, hoping it would humanize him at least a little. Sam was a good friend to Steve, but from what Bucky had caught while watching the two of them, Sam didn’t seem very fond of Bucky. And given their brief and violent history, that was fair. 

      Sam didn’t stand down. A red drone floated next to him, poised to strike and staring right at Bucky. 

     “What the hell is going on?” Sam asked. Steve finally let go of Bucky, who stepped back and raised his hands again in surrender. 

     “Don’t worry. I’m, uh, better now.” Bucky said, first looking to Sam and then Steve. He didn’t move a muscle, so as not to startle anyone. De-escalation wasn’t exactly his specialty, but he certainly wasn’t looking for a fight. 

     “Just like that, we’re supposed to be cool?” Sam shot back. 

     So much for easing the tension. 

     “I don’t do that stuff anymore,” Bucky tried again. 

     Before Sam could say anything, Steve spoke next. Despite the hug, he showed some hesitation now too. “So, you know who you are?”

     Bucky nodded. “And I know who you are.” He decided not to include the fact that he also knew exactly who Sam Wilson was too. 

     “You got proof?” Sam crossed his arms. 

     “Come on, Sam.” Steve frowned. 

     “No,” Sam remained firm. “The world’s deadliest assassin shows up on our fire escape at 3AM, I’m gonna ask questions.”

     Bucky let his arms fall to his sides. He thought for a moment and tried to conjure a memory of something, anything, that would help his credibility. He turned to Steve. “Your mom’s name was Sarah. And you used to wear newspapers in your shoes.” He chuckled to himself at the thought.

     “Can’t read that in a museum,” Steve said. His own fond smile crept onto his face. “It’s so good to see you, Buck.” 

     “You too,” Bucky said quietly. He felt some relief as the tension in the room eased, but he still had no idea what his plan was after this. 

     Fortunately, Steve had an idea of his own. “Come on in, let’s take a seat?” 

     Bucky nodded. Sam said nothing, though the daggers he stared at Steve gave Bucky some clue as to how he felt. 

     “So, how much do you remember?” Steve asked as they started toward the kitchen, presumably. 

     “More than I’d like,” Bucky admitted. “But with you? All of the good stuff.” 

     Steve practically beamed at him. Sam, not so much. He followed behind Bucky warily as Steve led them to a table situated in a small alcove just before the kitchen. Bucky prayed Sam couldn’t see any hint of the tail tucked into his right pant leg. When they arrived, Steve took the far seat at the table, leaving two closer seats open for Bucky and Sam. 

     “By the way,” Bucky stepped toward the empty seat next to Steve at the table, gently swatting Steve in the back of the head as he sat. His metal fingers made a muted thunk against Steve’s skull. “What the hell is wrong with you? The last time you saw me, I was actively trying to murder you and even beat you within an inch of your life, and your first instinct was to hug me? Unbelievable.”

     Steve chuckled. “Welcome home, Bucky,” he said, smiling. “And did you have to use the metal hand?”

     “Sorry,” Bucky said sheepishly. “Sometimes I forget.” 

     “You forget you have a metal arm?” Sam chimed in, leaning against the wall with his arms once again crossed. He remained standing. Despite Steve’s demeanor, Sam still wasn’t buying it.

     “I’m right handed,” Bucky said flatly. “Also, I’m sorry about the whole trying to actively murder you thing. I respect that you have no reason to trust me. But I don’t want to hurt you. I haven’t been with HYDRA in almost a year.” 

     “We know,” Steve said. “We’ve been trying to find you.” 

     “Yeah, I know,” Bucky leaned back in his chair. 

     “You know?” Sam asked. Steve raised an eyebrow at Bucky. 

     “I’ve been following you.” 

     Steve knit his brow. “The whole time?”

     “Well, no, not the whole time. But for the last six months or so.”

     “Unbelievable.” Sam said, running a hand through his hair. 

     “Don’t take it personally,” Bucky said. “I’m really good at this stuff.”

     “You’re not making a good case for yourself.” Sam said, narrowing his eyes. 

     “You’ve read the files, Sam,” Steve frowned. “None of it was his choice.” 

     It’s possible that Steve kept talking, but Bucky struggled to hear anything over his own pulse after that. How much did they know? They hadn’t looked at him strangely since he’d arrived, so it’s possible that they didn’t know about the cat DNA. They had the files, but maybe it wasn’t documented. That wouldn’t surprise Bucky. HYDRA wasn’t exactly keen on acknowledging their mistakes. Still, his face felt hot and a thousand memories of horrific, gruesome acts all committed by his own hand flashed before his eyes. Obviously he’d known that Steve and Sam had read up on him, but it felt shameful and invasive to hear them talk about what had happened to him. It was almost like their knowledge of his past confirmed it was all real and not just an extremely vivid nightmare. As if he wasn’t reminded of that every time he avoided a mirror or ached from the weight of the titanium monstrosity hanging from his shoulder. 

     He was pulled back into the present by something that sounded like a question directed at him. 

     “What?” Bucky blinked, unsure of who had even spoken to him. 

     It was Sam. “I said, why are you here?”

     Bucky wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. The short answer was obviously, “Steve,” which he heard himself say aloud. Internally, however, he still didn’t know what he wanted out of the interaction, other than to let Steve know he’s okay. 

     For a moment, no one said anything. Steve was the one to break the silence. “If you knew we were looking for you, why did you hide?”

     Bucky swallowed hard. “I…” he trailed off, trying to think of a way to make it make sense to them without saying too much. “…wasn’t ready. And, I wasn’t sure you’d even want to see me.”

     “If you’ve been following us for six months, then you’d know that’s not true.” Steve said. This type of challenging felt familiar. 

     Bucky shook his head and exhaled. “Well, I guess I figured that out. I’m here now.” He hoped that would be sufficient. He was eager to change the subject, though he wasn’t sure if either man would let him off the hook yet.

     Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Steve spoke first. “We’re glad to have you. Do you need anything? Food? A shower? Somewhere to–“

     Now it was Sam’s turn to interrupt. “Steve, can I talk to you privately for a moment?” The words rushed out of his mouth in what sounded almost like a hiss. 

     Steve stared at Sam defiantly before rising from the table and following Sam’s lead back to the living room, both completely unaware that Bucky would still be able to hear every word. Supernaturally strong hearing was a blessing and a curse, but it certainly served its purpose in the realm of surveillance. 

     Their hushed conversation began shortly after they were out of sight. Sam’s drone remained in the kitchen with Bucky, hovering in place, pointed directly at him. Well, guess bolting isn’t an option. Bucky trained his icy stare on the small camera situated right under the drone’s nose. 

     In the living room, Steve spoke first. He sounded confused. “I thought you wanted to help find him.”

     “I did. And I meant it, but I didn’t expect him to find us.” Sam said in his hiss-voice again.

     “Does that distinction really matter?” 

     “Well let’s see,” Sam replied, exasperated. “We’re talking about the world's most dangerous man. He tracked us for six months without either of us knowing, it’s the middle of the night, and we are at home.”

     Steve sighed. “If he was going to hurt us, don’t you think he’d have done it by now? He said he’s doing better. And we took HYDRA down with SHIELD in DC. It’s Bucky. I know it. He pulled me from the river. And now he needs our help.”

     There was a pause before Sam spoke again. Now it was his turn to sigh. “I can’t argue that the man needs world-class therapy.”

     Please, nobody’s qualified. Bucky almost chuckled to himself but didn’t dare make a peep for fear of blowing his cover. Steve’s hearing was pretty keen now too if he remembered correctly. 

     “So…” Steve said. “Are you with me? Or are you going to make me choose between you two right now?”

     Another pause. This one was much longer. “Fine. But I’m stationing Redwing outside his door all night.”

     Bucky rolled his eyes. Given his reputation, it was probably a fair precaution, but the last thing Bucky needed was Sam’s surveillance. Not like it’d be hard to take out that stupid drone if I had to…

     Footsteps told Bucky they were heading back toward the kitchen. He sat up and put on an oblivious bored expression. 

     Sam muttered one last retort on the way. “Oh, and if you’re wrong and I end up dead, you’re gonna have to be the one who calls my sister to explain.”

     Steve took a deep breath and his mouth took the shape of a small smile as he rounded the corner and strode into the kitchen. He met Bucky’s eyes and took a seat at the table across from him. “Anyway, do you need a place to stay? Or anything else?” 

     It then occurred to Bucky that he’d been so focused on listening that he hadn’t even thought about how to respond to the question Steve had left hanging in the air. He furrowed his brow. “Are you sure?”

     “Are you kidding?” 

     “I could probably use a shower.” Bucky said with a quiet sheepish chuckle. He felt…relieved? No, not quite. He wasn’t really sure. Everything he could remember told him that Steve was trustworthy, so perhaps this could be a good thing. Maybe he’d even stay the night. It was noticeably warmer in their apartment than it had been in his empty unit. And most likely safer, even with Sam being so (rightfully) guarded. As much as he tried not to think about it, this was the first time in an immeasurably long time that anybody had cared about Bucky’s needs. It felt nice but also overwhelming, and he didn’t like not knowing what was going to happen next. It was confusing. He decided to table that train of thought for later and fixed his face back into stoic neutrality. 

     “Bathroom’s down the hall,” Sam grumbled. His arms were crossed and he remained standing. 

     “Here,” Steve said politely, rising from the table. Bucky did the same. “Follow me.”

     He led Bucky through the living room and down the hallway to the second door on the right. The door led to what appeared to be a guest bedroom. There was a dresser, a chair, and a bed, but no personal belongings. Instead, there were piles upon piles of paper and folders covering the surface of each piece of furniture. There were even a few stray folders on the floor. Bucky didn’t have to look at them for long to recognize them as HYDRA files. Quite a few of the piles were clearly related to the Winter Soldier. Bucky felt his heart rate increase and tension filled the room again. Steve’s cheeks had turned a little red, indicating that he picked up on it too. Bucky felt sick to his stomach. Of course, he was horrified by the deeds he’d done as the Winter Soldier, but to see it all laid out like this in Steve’s apartment? It was downright shameful. 

     “Sorry about that,” Steve hurried to start collecting the piles on the bed. “We weren’t really expecting any company. I’ll get these out of here.”

     “Leave them,” Bucky said quietly. “I want to see.”

     “Are you sure?” Steve asked, widening the pit in Bucky’s stomach. 

     Bucky nodded silently. As little as he wanted to dive into the ugliest details of his life, he had to know what exactly Steve and Sam had learned from these files. If he was lucky, they might even answer a few of his own questions. 

     “Alright,” Steve obliged. “But I’m at least going to move these to the kitchen table so you’ve got a bed.”

     Before taking on that task, he grabbed a few towels and a washcloth from the closet and led Bucky back out into the hallway and toward the next door over. 

     “Here you go,” Steve said. He set the towels down and stepped out of the bathroom to give Bucky space to enter. “Use whatever you need.”

     “Thanks, Steve, really.” Bucky met his eyes and formed an expression he hoped resembled a smile. 

     “I’m just glad you finally showed up,” Steve smiled back, looking fondly at Bucky for a moment before returning to relocating the files. Bucky closed and locked the door behind him, listening to Steve walking away before getting to work. 

     The shower, though quick, was lavish. Bucky turned the faucet all the way to hot and let the water run over his left shoulder. It felt incredible and eased some of the stress he’d been carrying in all his muscles. He even got to use conditioner in his hair. He’d laughed to himself when he saw it on the shelf. Conditioner. HYDRA would never consider affording him such a luxury. For the first time in a very, very long time, Bucky felt truly warm, clean, and almost safe. Almost. He kept it speedy to minimize the amount of time he spent with his tail and ears exposed. Even though there was a lock on the door, that wouldn’t exactly prevent anyone in this apartment from getting in. Once finished, Bucky toweled off and dressed himself in some of the clothes he’d picked up earlier that morning, stuffing the tail down a pant leg. He then wrapped his hair in the towel, twisting it to rest on top of his head, concealing the ears. Taking a breath, he collected his things before he opened the door and padded down the hall to the guest bedroom. He set his bag on the floor and took a seat on the bed to rest for a moment before diving into the files.

     A few minutes passed before he heard footsteps approaching and a knock at the partially cracked door. Bucky peered across the room to see Steve standing in the doorway. 

     “Hi,” Bucky said. 

     “Can I come in?” Steve asked. 

     “It’s your house,” Bucky shrugged. 

     Steve smiled at Bucky as he crossed the room. Bucky hoped it wasn’t because of his towel hat. But then again, he really didn’t care. He’d learn a few things about his body while living on his own. Things like the fact that wrapping his hair in a towel really helped now that it was so long, or that metal hands and hair really do not mix well, or that getting his tail wet was a rather unpleasant sensation.

     “Thanks,” Bucky said as Steve took a seat next to him on the bed. “For all of this.”

     “Oh,” Steve brushed him off. “It’s nothing. I’m so glad you’re here.”

     Bucky wasn’t really sure what to say, but he managed a tight smile and a nod. 

     “I have something for you,” Steve said, fishing something out of his pocket. He handed the object to Bucky, plopping it into his right hand. 

     Bucky looked down, feeling the cool metal with a gentle grip. It was a pair of two rectangular tags on a chain. The tags were inscribed with letters and numbers, identifiers. More specifically, his identifiers. They were his Army dog tags. 

     Bucky thumbed over the name imprinted in the metal. James B. Barnes. 32557038.  “I don’t know what to say.” He looked into Steve’s eyes and found himself admitting something he didn’t think he’d say. “I can’t promise that I’m really him anymore.”

     “I know,” Steve gently placed his hand on Bucky’s good shoulder. “I just thought you should have these.”

     Bucky gently closed his fist around the tags. He hoped his expression accurately conveyed the gratitude he felt. Either way, he was confident for the first time that he had made the right call.

Chapter Text

     Bucky didn’t sleep a wink that night. And from the sounds of it, neither did anyone else in the apartment. Bucky heard Sam pacing periodically and Steve just sitting in his room, occasionally shuffling. It was hard to tell what either of them were thinking. 

     Left to his own devices with the stacks upon stacks of old HYDRA files, Bucky spent the night poring over all the files, scanning them for any scrap of information he didn’t want Steve and Sam to have in the futile hopes that maybe they hadn’t seen it yet. Fortunately most of the files seemed to be in German or Russian, giving Bucky an advantage. There were numerous logs written in painstaking detail that described his missions, behaviors, cryostasis sessions, test results, skills, and weapons, dated all throughout his time with HYDRA. Many of the pages outlined events that had returned to Bucky’s memory with his freedom, though a few caught him off guard or were even entirely unfamiliar. He was filled with horror as he read, confirming events he’d only seen in dreams. More than a few times, he found himself in tears, fighting to stay silent as shame and guilt weighed heavy on his shoulders. No matter how sickening the details got though, Bucky persisted. He figured if he’d tried to sleep instead, he’d just be reliving it all in nightmares anyway. At least he’d come away with a more complete and accurate picture of his past. While he’d been able to recall a significant portion of his life, Bucky’s memory was still very spotty. 

     It turned out Sam was serious about his dumb little drone hovering right outside the door to the guest room, which Bucky discovered when he finished going through the piles of paperwork that hadn’t been moved to the kitchen. Annoyed by this unwanted supervision, Bucky once again donned his disguise and crept toward the dining room table to tackle the remaining files. The drone shadowed him, watching silently from across the table, poised perfectly to aim any weapons on board directly at his skull.

     Bucky sighed as he closed the last folder. Taking a trip down traumatic memory lane made for a very long night, especially when accompanied by such a hostile audience. 

     Thankfully, and somewhat worryingly, there was not a single mention of feline anything. This omission could mean a few things, but Bucky chose to chalk it up to HYDRA’s intentional neglect in documenting their mistakes. He would proceed under the assumption that Sam and Steve didn’t know about the genetic experiments, and he intended to keep it that way. 

     Additionally, there had been several mentions of codewords that had been used throughout his conditioning to “activate the Winter Soldier” and control him. There was absolutely nothing, however, on what these words were or where to find them. The missing information almost bothered him more than everything he’d just read. Questions flooded his brain. 

     What if someone out there had those codewords? 

     What if they still worked?

     What if HYDRA got him back?

     And most importantly, How could he get rid of them?

     In the wake of his research, Bucky sat back in his chair staring at the drone as he got lost in a swirling storm of thoughts. There was a lot for him to absorb. Of course, Steve and Sam’s knowledge of Bucky’s history as the Winter Soldier was unavoidable, given the circumstances of their reunion last year. Bucky had been coping with that for as long as he’d been able to recall who Steve was. But now, knowing that they’d been able to read all about his awful deeds brought a brand new sting. They might not know about the cat thing, but they still knew what a monster he was. 

     Bucky had been so caught up in his own head that he failed to notice a stirring coming from Sam’s room until the sound of the doorknob turning snapped him back into the present. He blinked and sat up, clearing his throat and fixing his face into the most amicable expression he could manage. 

     A few footsteps later, Sam appeared in the kitchen. He didn’t seem surprised to see Bucky there, which told Bucky that Sam had likely been watching through a camera on the drone. Great. 

     Though he was still shaken from the files, Bucky did his best to seem relaxed and non-threatening. Non-threatening. Sure. He chuckled to himself internally. 

     Bucky greeted Sam with a nod and a small wave. Sam’s face remained stone cold, but he offered a curt nod in Bucky’s direction on his way to the coffee maker. 

     Bucky wasn’t uncomfortable with silence by any means, but he was on a mission to firmly establish himself as human in Sam’s eyes. So, he channeled what was left of his personality and made a tactical attempt at small talk.

     “Thanks for letting me use the guest room,” Bucky said. 

     “Whatever,” Sam said. He didn’t seem eager to continue the conversation, but Bucky tried again. 

     “So, The Falcon, huh? What’s your whole…deal?” Bucky made a vague gesture with his hand toward Sam. 

     “Man, shut the hell up.” Sam spat back.

     Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He tried to give Sam some patience, given their past, but he was not in the mood for this. He sat up and leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table and meeting Sam’s eyes. “Give me a break, Sam. At least I’m trying. And I’m truly sorry for trying to kill you and then ruining your sleep. You don’t have to like me. In fact, you have every right not to. But let me make it very clear that I don’t want to hurt you or Steve. Or anyone anymore, for that matter. I escaped from HYDRA, and I’m not fucking going back.”

     Sam stared at him blankly. “You know, I think that’s the most words I’ve ever heard you use.”

     Unbelievable. It took every bit of Bucky’s superhuman strength not to throw his hands up in the air in frustration. Instead, he painted on a forced polite smile. He felt his tail bristle against his leg. 

     “Well,” Bucky said as he rose from the table and slung his jacket over his shoulder. “Thanks again for the shower and letting me stay. Tell Steve I’ll see him around, I guess.” 

     “Wait.” Sam stopped him before he could even take a step. “I’m sorry. Sit back down, and let’s talk.”

     Bucky dropped the smile and sat. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for Sam to make the next move. 

     “Look, I just have a hard time letting my guard down given…everything.”

     “Well sure, but you don’t have to be a dick about it.” Bucky frowned. 

     “Touché.” Sam conceded. “It sounds like you’ve been through a lot.”

     “You’ve done your research.” Bucky tilted his head toward the piles of folders and files taking up the other end of the table, but he kept his icy stare trained on Sam. “So you should know everything, huh?” He bit his lip defiantly and crossed his arms on the table again. 

     Before Sam could say anything, Steve strode into the kitchen. For someone whose sleep had been rudely interrupted, he was oddly chipper. “Good morning.”

     Bucky nodded and Sam relaxed his posture, greeting Steve with a calm “hey.”

     “You still like pancakes?” Steve asked. Even now, it felt distantly strange to see him like this, all tall and strong and healthy.

     “I don’t want to impose,” Bucky replied, dropping any trace of venom from his tone. He really wasn’t sure what would happen next. But he hadn’t planned on staying. Clearly, Sam hadn’t either, given the animosity he wasn’t working hard to disguise. 

     “That’s not what I asked you,” Steve said, a mischievous smile creeping onto his lips. 

     “I haven’t had pancakes since 1942,” Bucky said softly, the corner of his own mouth turning upward. 

     “I can’t imagine HYDRA had the most enticing food options,” Sam chimed in. 

     Bucky groaned. “You don’t even wanna know.”

     They all shared a chuckle, diffusing some of the tension in the room, and fell into working on breakfast. Sam poured some coffee, even handing Bucky a mug. Steve began pulling ingredients from around the kitchen, practically floating as he moved. His demeanor was a stark contrast to the way he’d behaved in the café the other day. That made Bucky feel both strangely warm and incredibly guilty for not doing this much sooner. 

     “Sleep okay?” Steve asked, now stirring the bowl of pancake batter with a whisk. 

     “Not a wink,” Bucky admitted. Why lie when there’s video evidence? Besides, he wanted to tell as much of the truth as he could. 

     “Me either,” Steve chuckled. 

     “Sorry about that,” Bucky said, sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to ruin your beauty sleep. I just–I don’t really know how to do this.” 

     “Please,” Steve smiled at him. “It’s okay. I’m really glad that you’re here.”

     “Speaking of, why are you here again?” Sam asked, prickly again, his tone a quick and clear reminder that he didn’t trust Bucky in the slightest.

     “Sam, if I wanted to hurt you, do you really think I would have politely knocked on the window and then kept to myself all night?” Bucky asked calmly, taking a sip of his coffee. 

     Sam simply glared at him. 

     “I’m here because I knew you two were looking for me and I owed it to Steve to at least check in.”

     “And how are you?” Steve asked, flipping the first pancake with a spatula. 

     “Not great.” A cold laugh accompanied Bucky’s words. “But better than I was, I guess.” 

     “Have you been staying somewhere?” Steve pressed on. It was only fair that he had a lot of questions, Bucky supposed. They hadn’t really had the chance to talk in about seven decades. 

     Bucky hesitated before answering. “I was. You’d be surprised how easy it is to sneak into a vacant apartment,” he said. He immediately regretted the way he’d phrased it, as Sam’s eyebrows shot up. Bucky cleared his throat. “But someone signed the lease, so I’ll have to find somewhere new.” 

     Heat flooded Bucky’s cheeks as his statement hung in the air. Steve looked at Sam in a way that could only be described as puppy-level pathetic pleading. The implication in his eyes was obvious. He could stay here. 

     “Seriously, Steven?” Sam sighed, exasperated. 

     “He said it himself,” Steve flipped another pancake. “He’s not here to hurt us.”

     “I still don’t trust him,” Sam said, now staring daggers in Bucky’s direction, as if he’d been the one to suggest anything. 

     “Are you planning on using the spare room for something? Besides, lower rent,” Steve offered. 

     “Do the Avengers not pay well?” Bucky ribbed. 

     “No,” Steve chuckled as he plated the first batch and began to pour more batter. “But the Army backpay is pretty nice.”

     “I don’t really have a way that I could pay rent.” Bucky admitted, taking a sip of his coffee. 

     “That’s ok, I’ve been working on getting that set up for you,” Steve said. 

     “What?” Bucky was confused. 

     “It’s part of the reason we have all the files,” Steve nodded toward the stacks on the kitchen table. “We’ve been looking for you, and I’ve also been building a case to clear your name and get you your benefits.”

     Bucky simply blinked at him. “I don’t understand.”

     “What do you mean?” Steve asked, offering no clarity. 

     “If you’ve read the files, you’d know that I should probably be turned in.” Bucky said flatly, staring down into his mug. 

     Steve stopped cooking. “Bucky,” he said, suddenly very serious. “Nothing that happened to you was your fault.”

     Bucky’s blood felt icy in his veins. The room also felt a lot smaller than it did just a second ago. “Doesn’t mean I’m not guilty.”

     “Hey,” Steve took a step toward the table. “Those are HYDRA’s crimes. Not yours.” 

     Bucky just stared. Steve had said something similar last night. But did that distinction really matter? He’d still committed all of the atrocities, and they didn’t have to go far for the cold hard proof. It was laid out on the table less than two feet away. They’d all read it.

     “You’re burning your pancakes,” Sam said finally, shattering the tension of their silence. Bucky certainly had not expected Sam of all people to save him from this interaction, but he was grateful nonetheless as Steve promptly turned his attention back to the stove. 

     “Well,” Steve spoke again, steering the conversation back to slightly safer territory. “My offer of the guest room still stands, but it’s only fair to give you both time to think about it. Let’s just start with today.” Steve finished plating the second set of pancakes and brought the plate to the table, setting it between Bucky and Sam before going to grab additional plates for them to use.

     The first whiff Bucky got of breakfast was absolutely mouthwatering. He couldn’t believe he was about to eat fresh homemade pancakes. Still, he made no move to fill his plate, instead letting Sam go first. It was only polite as their guest, of course, but Bucky wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from grabbing the entire stack if he hadn’t waited. The super soldier metabolism was no joke, and his last truly filling meal was nothing more than a distant memory at this point.

     Fortunately, Steve understood that, as it was also his curse to bear. Which is probably why he prepared about five times the amount of batter any regular group of three would require. When he’d finally made it through the bowl, he claimed his spot at the table with his own plate and joined Sam and Bucky in enjoying his fine griddle work. 

     It’s possible that these pancakes were the best thing Bucky had ever eaten. They were warm and perfectly fluffy, with just a hint of vanilla. The only thing keeping Bucky from thinking he’d finally kicked the bucket and gone to heaven was the fact that he’d lost his ticket to get in ages ago. 

     Sam and Steve settled into idle chatter about their plans for the day, but Bucky struggled to listen attentively, focused instead on scarfing down his food. He couldn’t help it. It was only when he noticed the glances at his metal arm that he was pulled back into the present. He’d worn just a t-shirt overnight, so the titanium plates were on display between his sleeve and the fingerless glove he used to give his hand better grip. 

     Of course, it was only natural that anyone would stare, however hard they tried to hide it. That didn’t make Bucky feel any less uncomfortable, but he hoped it would at least distract them from anything else that might seem off about him. The longer they sat together, the higher the spikes in Bucky’s fear that Steve would catch something uncanny that he didn’t recognize. 

     Fortunately, the meal passed without incident. While Sam set out to lead some sessions at the VA, Bucky helped Steve clean up breakfast. 

     It was obvious that Steve had approximately eight million questions, but he paced himself, so as not to overwhelm Bucky. It was strange, being around someone who knew more about him than he did. There had clearly been a strong connection between them, which Bucky knew, of course, but he still felt very distant from that life. It was challenging to meet Steve’s energy around their friendship when he was more familiar with the facts than the feelings of it all.

     Steve started off safe. “How was your night?”

     “Oh, you know, just did some light reading,” Bucky replied flatly, nodding toward the files.

     Steve seemed concerned, but not surprised. “You okay?”

     Bucky let out a quiet, bitter chuckle. “Next question.”

     Thankfully, Steve obliged without hesitation. “What happened after…everything?”

     “You mean after you let me almost kill you?” Bucky blurted before he could help it. He didn’t mean to be so harsh, but it was as if the memory had activated some ancient part of himself that was very upset over Steve’s recklessness. He still couldn’t believe that Steve had just given up like that. And Bucky had almost followed through. That is, until Steve had muttered those nine magic words that somehow pierced every layer of conditioning HYDRA had used in creating the Winter Soldier, breaking his wretched curse. Bucky didn’t let himself think about what would have happened if it hadn’t worked. 

     Steve sighed as he loaded the dishwasher. “What else did you want me to do? It was you or me. And I couldn’t let it be me.” 

     Bucky wasn’t sure what to say to that and he didn’t want to dig any deeper, so he switched gears. “To answer your question, it’s all kind of blurry. We fell, I pulled you out of the river, and then I ran. I didn’t know anything, except that I’d failed my mission and I couldn’t finish it. I didn’t want to go back. Otherwise, I was very…confused.

     “I spent the first few days just hiding, praying that HYDRA wouldn’t find me,” he continued. “Eventually, I saw an advertisement for the Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian. I recognized you and decided to learn more. So, I paid the museum a visit. That’s when things started coming back to me. And then I saw the part about me. I realized who I was and what had happened to me.” Bucky paused, feeling the weight of that moment coming back to him as he recounted it for Steve. 

     Steve didn’t say anything. Instead, he stopped working on the dishes and simply looked at Bucky, giving him space to continue.

     “After that, a lot of memories came flooding back. It was…overwhelming. I was also staying hidden and trying to learn how to be a person again.” Bucky looked down at the floor, starting to feel uncomfortable again. He’d spent so much of the day stuck in the past, and it was starting to wear on him. He took a deep breath and decided to wrap it up. “It dawned on me that you might also be looking for me. So, I found you and just watched for a while. You know the rest.”

     “That must have been so hard,” Steve said quietly. He looked at Bucky with such empathetic hurt in his eyes that Bucky felt the expression cut right through his chest and into his heart. 

     Bucky cleared his throat. “It still is,” he admitted. 

     “You’re safe now. And I’m here to meet you wherever you’re at.” Steve replied, keeping it simple. Bucky was grateful that he was treading lightly. His wounds were still far too raw to explore deeply, and Steve seemed to respect that. 

     “‘Til the end of the line,” Bucky said, managing a smile. 

     “‘Til the end of the line,” Steve repeated. He offered Bucky his hand to shake and then pulled him into a hug. 

     As they broke their embrace and headed for the living room, Bucky decided to ask a question of his own. “So, this Sam guy…?”

     Steve chuckled, scratching the back of his head as he sat down on the couch. “He’s a good man. He’ll come around.”

     “You sure me sticking around isn’t going to bug him too much?” Bucky followed suit, sitting and leaning back into the cushion before crossing one leg over the other. 

     “If it does, we’ll get through it,” Steve said. “Let’s just see how it goes. Unless you’ve got somewhere else to be?”

     Bucky exhaled through his nose. “You got me there.”

     So, they took it day by day. Within the next week, the three men began to get used to their new arrangement. Bucky memorized Sam and Steve’s routines and started crafting his own around it in order to safeguard his secret. He made sure that he was always the last to fall asleep and the first to wake up. It was not a difficult position to be in - he didn’t require much sleep anyway, and what little shut-eye he did get was plagued by visions of his most heinous deeds. He was extremely careful about his disguise, only removing it in his room when he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed for a while or when showering behind the (again, uselessly) locked bathroom door. Any time he planned to ditch the hat and the contacts, he also paused to listen and identify Steve and Sam’s positions in the apartment prior to doffing.

     Even so, Bucky felt safer than he had in a long time. Everything he knew told him he could trust Steve. And Sam might not like him, but they’d made it almost a week without any major incident, save for a few snarky comments sprinkled here and there. 

     Clearly Sam was on a similar page, as he declared that night that he was okay with Bucky sticking around. He claimed it was only for the cheaper rent, but Bucky knew there was more to it than that. As promised, Bucky hadn’t harmed a fly since the beginning of his stay. He’d been on his best, most benign behavior, and it seemed to be paying off. Additionally, anyone with eyes could see that Steve had been absolutely beaming since Bucky’s return. Sam knew he couldn’t ruin that. And neither could Bucky, which is why he agreed to stay. The sun itself might have been in the room with the way Steve’s face lit up from the news. 

     They celebrated by ordering a ridiculous amount of pizza and inviting Bucky to something that Sam dubbed Steve’s ‘cultural education,’ during which Sam shared an important film or other piece of media from the last seventy years that Steve had missed while he was in the ice. Tonight’s movie was Jurassic Park. 

     If it weren’t for the ironic choice of a movie about genetic abominations running amok and the pressure of keeping his own anomalies under wraps, Bucky might have even admitted to enjoying himself. Regardless, that night he went to bed full, warm, and safe. As soon as he was secured and disguise-free in the guest room, he drifted off in record time.

Chapter Text

    Steve could hardly believe it. He had spent every waking moment since April, hoping, praying that Bucky was okay. He’d barely been able to think about anything else since learning the truth about the Winter Soldier’s identity. It was impossible to remain focused once he knew that Bucky was alive, and he would have stopped at nothing to see him again. 

    And now here he was, right there in the guest bedroom. And he was okay. If this was a dream, Steve didn’t ever want to wake up. The pain of losing Bucky had been concerningly close to unbearable. Having him back was an indescribable feeling. Steve was almost afraid to let himself rejoice, terrified that he might jinx something and send himself right back into the icy abyss of his grief. 

    Sam was pretty peeved about it, which was confusing. He’d seemed all in on finding Bucky until just before they had. Was he hiding something? It didn’t seem like it. Perhaps he’d just been caught off guard when Bucky had showed up on their fire escape. Given the things HYDRA had used Bucky to do, maybe that was fair, but Steve knew deep in his bones that Bucky was still Bucky. Why else would he have stopped short of killing Steve and then pulled him out of the river after the helicarrier crash, saving his life? 

    It was promising that Bucky seemed to remember it all now. He wasn’t quite the same, of course. But how could anyone expect him to be? He was more reserved, quieter. His signature charm was still there but much dimmer than before. He kept to himself, always wearing a hat and covering the metal arm, as if shielding himself behind his clothing. His hair was longer and he sported some stubble on his face. He was lean, which worried Steve that maybe he hadn’t been eating much, but his muscles remained thanks to the serum. He looked tired. His formerly crystal blue eyes seemed cloudy, obscured and heavy. 

    At the same time though, Bucky was exactly the same. The same barely-there curl in his chocolate hair. The same set to his jaw and shoulders when he was annoyed or pondering something. The same sly smile that could stop Steve’s heart right in its tracks. He’d even held onto the concern that Steve wasn’t taking proper care of himself. Certainly, there was nothing more Bucky Barnes than the way he’d scarfed down the pancakes Steve had made on his first morning with them. 

    For the past week, Steve had been floating through life, suspended in his disbelief. Suddenly, he wasn’t alone in being so very lost in time, stripped of everything he’d ever known. The world he’d landed in was bleak, and the jolt into the future had left him directionless and isolated. Now, it was as if something really mattered. He didn’t want to lose that sense or Bucky ever again.

Chapter Text

     To Bucky’s horror, he woke to the sound of Steve knocking and calling his name from the other side of the guest room door. His stomach dropped as he registered what was happening. 

     “Just a second,” Bucky replied, his voice groggy. 

     Startled and exposed, he found himself on the floor tangled between two blankets and clad in just a pair of boxers. It wasn’t clear how long Steve had been there, or how much longer he was going to wait before he decided to come in. Regardless, Bucky couldn’t take a chance. He assessed how best to hide his feline features immediately. 

     Shit. 

     His clothes were across the room and getting dressed would take too long, possibly raising suspicion. The blankets would have to do. He pinned his tail between his legs and tossed one of the blankets over the lower half of his body. To cover the ears, he formed a hood with the other blanket, pulling it tight to his head and around his shoulders like a cloak. The contacts were out of reach. He’d just have to pray that Steve didn’t turn the lights on. Or close his eyes if he had to. 

     Fuck!

     Pulse thundering in his ears, Bucky took a deep breath and gave the all clear, inviting Steve into the room. 

     “Mornin’,” Steve said casually as he entered. Fortunately, he let the beam from the hallway light illuminate the room and refrained from using the lightswitch. 

     “Hi,” Bucky said. He had no idea where this was going. His insides felt as if they’d been replaced by pure electricity. 

     “Sleep okay?” Steve asked. 

     “Better than I should have,” Bucky replied. He felt so disoriented. His tail bristled against his legs. Each second of this moment took up an eternity.

     “I was thinking,” Steve started. “I want to take you shopping. I know that it can be a lot, getting established again, and I’d like to help you start. If you’re ready for that, of course.” 

     “Oh,” Bucky didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t been sure what to expect, but it wasn’t this. “I mean, I have clothes and they’re okay.” 

     “Bucky, you have maybe three shirts and a pair of pants. You should have some things to call your own. I want you to feel comfortable and at home here.”

     Steve was right, but shopping sounded extremely unappealing to Bucky. Prolonging this conversation, however, sounded even worse. He’d have done just about anything to get Steve out of there. 

     “Alright, fine.” Bucky surrendered, gripping his blanket-cloak tightly between his metal fingers. “Just let me get dressed.” 

     Thankfully, Steve obliged. As soon as the door closed behind Steve, Bucky realized he’d been holding his breath between speaking. He exhaled and remained still for a moment, trying to process what had just happened.

     That was way too close. 

     Bucky wasn’t even sure that Steve hadn’t seen anything. Surely he would have reacted if he had, right? Bucky knew his condition wasn’t exactly easy to look at. He tried to convince himself that Steve was still oblivious as he pushed himself up off the floor, letting the blankets pool at his feet. 

     Bucky couldn’t believe he’d overslept. Typically, he didn’t require much rest, so this was an unusual occurrence. Though he generally felt safer in their company, keeping his secret from Steve and Sam had Bucky more on-edge and alert than before. He was hyperaware of his behavior and appearance, desperate to appear normal, familiar. It hadn’t mattered as much when he was alone, but the pressure was clearly starting to wear on him, sapping his energy and leaving him vulnerable. 

     Shopping. Bucky groaned, trying to shake his nerves. When he’d been out buying pieces of his disguise, it had strictly been a mission - get in quick, get what you need, and then get the hell out. Building an actual wardrobe was something he hadn’t even considered. Hell, having a life wasn’t something he’d considered. Such luxuries were unattainable for the likes of him. Besides, it was hard to consider the long-term future when it took so much mental energy just to make it through each day.

     Bucky fished a pair of jeans out of his backpack and pulled on a long-sleeve t-shirt before tugging his baseball cap into place to cover his extra ears. Once dressed, he stole a glance at the mirror. Satisfied, he put in the contacts, pulled on his gloves, and fixed his face into an expression that concealed just how close he’d come to blowing everything. He took a deep breath and headed out into the hallway. 

     Just another day pretending to be Bucky Barnes. 

     “You know, technically I have two pairs of pants.” Bucky called as he turned the corner into the living room. He was surprised to see Steve wearing his own disguise. A navy blue baseball cap sat atop his head and he wore a pair of black-framed glasses with clear lenses. Bucky raised an eyebrow at him, perplexed. 

     “Sometimes people recognize me,” Steve admitted sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t think we wanted to be interrupted today.”

     “Thanks,” Bucky said quietly. “Though I hate to make you take a day off from being Captain America.” He made a gesture with his hands, illustrating the grandness of the moniker. 

     Steve chuckled and shook his head. “Sometimes, I just want to be Steve.” 

     “Good, I like him better anyway,” Bucky joked. He found himself hit with a shiver and a wave of regret the moment they stepped outside. It occurred to him then that he hadn’t left the apartment since he’d arrived. He’d forgotten just how frigid the winter air could be. Stifling a groan, Bucky pulled his threadbare jacket tighter around his torso.

     “Everything okay?” Though there was no verbal complaint, apparently Bucky’s discomfort was not lost on Steve. 

     “Yeah, it’s just…cold.” Bucky shoved his hands back into his pockets. 

     “Well, we’re definitely getting you a warmer coat,” Steve said. 

     Bucky moved methodically through the store, fighting the overwhelm of the fluorescent lighting and disturbingly cheery music by focusing on his mission. He combed the racks and shelves for practical pieces - things with a lot of pockets, dark or neutral colors that wouldn’t stand out, and sturdy materials that would hold up. The metal arm posed a particular challenge when it came to shirts. They’d have to be made of something that wouldn’t snag or tear easily on the titanium plates. There was a reason HYDRA had outfitted him in one-sleeved garments. 

     Steve gave Bucky some space but remained close by, pretending to examine a bland lilac polo shirt hanging on the rack across the aisle. That is, until he apparently noticed Bucky looking around to ensure he didn’t attract the wandering eyes of strangers. 

     “Doing alright?” Steve asked quietly as he stepped across the aisle to stand next to Bucky. 

     “Yeah.” Bucky played it cool, but his cheeks flooded with warmth. He was a bit embarrassed to have Steve watching him so closely. He wasn’t used to being out in public with anyone. “Why?” 

     “Just making sure,” Steve said. “You’re shopping like it’s a tactical mission.” 

     “You don’t like how I’m shopping?” Bucky frowned.

     “No! No. I’m just making sure you’re okay.”

     Bucky met his eyes. He almost continued to challenge Steve, but something inside him told him to drop the front. Bucky didn’t have an easy time letting his guard down anymore, given everything, but with Steve it felt like it might be safe.

     “Do I look nervous?” Bucky whispered almost silently.

     “Are you nervous?” Steve asked at the same volume. 

     Bucky chuckled softly. “Extremely.”

     “It’s alright. I’ve got your back. What can I do to help?”  

     “I just…want to see if this shirt would work.” Bucky gestured toward the navy blue henley hanging in front of him.

     Steve looked at him with a hint of confusion, not quite following.

     “The arm,” Bucky explained. “I have to be careful because it’ll shred certain things when I move.” 

     “Do you want to try it on? They have fitting rooms over th–”

     “No,” Bucky said a little too quickly. He could think of about a million and five ways that taking off his clothes in any part of this store could go horribly wrong. Instead, he angled himself so he was standing between the rack and Steve and removed his left glove. Carefully, he ran the inside of his metal wrist along the fabric of the shirt. His face felt hot again when he noticed Steve’s gaze following his movement. Even though he’d been staying with Steve and Sam for a week now, Bucky often caught Steve looking at him like that. As if he were still surprised that Bucky was really right there in front of him. Bucky wondered if it would ever wear off. The exhausted part of him that had overslept so dangerously that morning certainly hoped so. While he trusted Steve, Bucky felt like he was under a microscope. It wasn’t easy to keep secrets under such scrutiny. 

     Bucky cleared his throat and tossed the shirt into the small cart at his side that housed his other finds. “I think this one will be fine.” 

     He hoped that was enough to move on and steer the conversation back to safer territory. 

     Steve nodded, taking the cue. “Can I ask you something else? Did something happen to your head? I can’t help but notice you’re always wearing a hat now.”

     Well, so much for safer territory. 

     Bucky tried hard not to let his expression show any notable change, despite the marked increase in his heart rate and the twinge of anxiety he felt in his stomach. Perhaps the question shouldn’t have surprised Bucky, but Steve asking it still felt as if someone had driven an icicle directly into his chest. 

     “HYDRA did a lot of things to my head. Maybe it’s silly, but I don’t feel comfortable leaving it exposed anymore.” Bucky said quietly. It wasn’t the full truth, of course, but his response wasn’t exactly a lie. 

     “I hear that.” Fortunately, Steve took his words as enough and didn’t press any further. 

     They continued browsing without much conversation until Steve held up a pair of fuzzy pajama pants. They were periwinkle and covered with clouds. 

     “Don’t be ridiculous,” Bucky scoffed. 

     “I’m not being ridiculous,” Steve replied. “You should have something comfortable to wear while you sleep.”

     “What’s wrong with sleeping in my regular clothes?”

     “Touch them. They’re soft.” Steve offered one of the pantlegs to Bucky.

     “No.”  Bucky wrinkled his nose. “Why are you even suggesting these?” 

     Steve sighed. “Alright, listen. You’re not gonna like this, because I know I didn’t, but Sam taught me something important when we started living together.” 

     Bucky frowned but didn’t say anything, waiting for Steve to go on.

     “He told me that I had to learn how to be ‘off duty,’” Steve explained, still clutching the pajama pants. “That when I was at home, I was to be at home.” 

     “I’m not sure I understand,” Bucky admitted. He really didn’t want the pants, though he didn’t think this was a battle he’d be winning.

     “What I’m trying to say is I know how you feel,” Steve tried again. “Sleeping in your clothes with your gear close by and ready to go just in case you’ve gotta make a swift exit. I get it. But the thing is, we can’t spend our lives waiting for the next bad thing to come. Yes, it’s going to come someday, but if we exhaust ourselves worrying about it, we won’t be at our best when that time does come. You’ve had so much taken from you, Bucky, but now is your chance to live.”

     “You got all that from Sam?” 

     “Sometimes he knows what he’s talking about,” Steve smiled.

     “Well that’s nice, but you aren’t actually suggesting that I should wear these fuzzy cloud pants, are you?” Bucky pondered Steve’s echoed words, but surely there had to be a less embarrassing way to relax.  

     “I’ll give it to you that fashion has certainly…changed.” Steve said sheepishly. “But I bet they’re really cozy.”

     “Appreciate the sentiment, but it’s not happening, Steve.” Bucky crossed his arms. 

     Steve held his hands up in surrender. “Alright. But we should at least get you some sweatpants or something else to lounge in.”

     Bucky grumbled once more for good measure before obliging, finding two pairs of ‘cozy’ pants with a much more respectable color scheme (black). That seemed to satisfy Steve enough to leave Bucky unsupervised and set off to find a few things for himself. Bucky refocused, doing one last sweep of the area for any desirable pieces before settling himself in an alcove near the front of the store to wait for Steve.

     The store wasn’t particularly busy, fortunately, but occasionally someone new would stroll in through the automatic door. Bucky watched from among the racks as the newest customer entered. With their arrival came the sharp kiss of the January air, the breeze sinking beneath Bucky’s clothes to bring the chill all the way to his bones. He shivered and blinked.

     When Bucky opened his eyes, he was met with the blinding sight of the alpine snow glistening against jagged black rock. The wind howled, ripping through his hair as he stood on the edge of a colossal, unforgiving ravine. Snowflakes landed in his eyelashes, blurring his vision. He could see his breath. His heart was already pounding, but it grew more violent as he started to recognize the scene. The pit in his stomach deepened and his hands shook as he heard Steve say something about “bugs on a windshield.” There would be a train appearing on the horizon any moment now.

     Panic set in and Bucky lurched forward, reaching for Steve. He was so strong now, but Bucky had to do anything he could to stop him from starting this fight. Nothing good was on the other side of the cable they were about to cross. Bucky was practically hyperventilating as his fingers landed on Steve’s shoulder. 

     “Bucky?” He heard Steve’s voice again. It seemed to come from further away this time, which was odd. Still, Bucky had to stop him.

     “Please don’t, Steve,” he began, his voice wavering with fear. “Please don’t make me do this.”

     “Bucky, it’s okay,” Steve said calmly–way too calmly for someone who was about to fling themselves off a cliff, reckless idiot or not.

     “Please.” Bucky cried. “I can’t–”

     Suddenly, Bucky felt a firm and sure grip on his right forearm. He jumped slightly at the touch and blinked a few times before recognizing Steve’s face through the fog of his contacts. Steve was dressed in civilian clothes, and they were no longer standing on the precipice of a fate worse than death. They were inside, at a store in modern Brooklyn, in public, and Bucky was acting like a crazy person. 

     “Hey, are you alright?” Steve asked, steadying him before abruptly letting go of his arms.

     Bucky took a deep breath and nodded, hoping to calm himself down. It was okay. He was safe now. He cleared his throat and padded over to sit on a small bench near the shoes. The shelves were taller there and the area was more secluded. Steve followed him with both of their carts. 

     “Why don’t I go pay for our stuff and we can get out of here to go somewhere quieter?” Steve knelt in front of Bucky to meet his eyes.

     “Okay,” Bucky replied quietly. He looked at Steve briefly before his eyes darted around, scanning the store. He prayed he hadn’t drawn any unwanted attention. 

     “You gonna be alright here for a minute?” Steve asked.

     Bucky nodded. He could hold his own, of course, if shit hit the fan, but he’d rather not have to exercise those particular skills. He remained alert in Steve’s absence, keeping an eye on anyone nearby and listening for anything out of the ordinary. 

     It was hard to tell how much time truly passed before Steve returned, his arms loaded with bags upon bags of their new clothes. In addition to a new parka, Bucky had also gotten a few pairs of shoes, which made for a bulky load. Anyone else would have looked ridiculous carrying that much stuff.

     Bucky took a few of the bags and boxes from Steve and followed him back out into the cold. He held his breath as he crossed the threshold out of the store, but this time he remained present. His heart was still racing. 

     About a block and a half down the street, Steve and Bucky ducked into a tiny brunch restaurant. It was quiet, as Steve had promised, but there was enough business to keep their waitress from visiting too often. Despite his nerves, Bucky appreciated the privacy. And, of course, he was never one to turn down breakfast food.

     “You wanna talk about what happened back there?” Steve asked once they’d ordered their food.

     “I don’t know.” Bucky sniffed, trying to think of how to put it into words. “Suddenly I was back in the alps. We were about to go after Zola on the train.”

     Steve nodded in understanding. “It happens to me too.”

     “Really?” Bucky asked quietly. 

     “All the time,” Steve’s mouth formed a sad smile as he looked down.

     Bucky looked at Steve, feeling pained to know that he suffered from the same kinds of episodes. Bucky had been sure his own were a result of the damage HYDRA had done to his brain. 

     “I used to sleep on the floor, too.” Steve confessed. 

     Bucky suddenly felt extremely vulnerable, but his time to ponder it was cut short by the arrival of their food. It was hard to think about anything else once the scent of pumpkin French toast filled the air. Fortunately, Steve seemed preoccupied by his own dish. They both dug in, feasting without a word for several bites. It was only once they started to slow down that one of them spoke again. 

     “There’s one last thing I wanted to get you,” Steve said through a mouthful of eggs benedict. 

     Bucky stared at him, waiting for Steve to continue. 

     Steve swallowed before speaking again. “A phone.”

     “A phone?” Bucky scoffed. “Please be serious.”

     “I am being serious.” Steve frowned. 

     “For what? I’ve lived my whole life without one so far. What do I need one for now?” Bucky took a big bite of his french toast. 

     “I mean, you’ve used a radio, right? Phones are kind of similar, I guess. They can actually be very useful and kind of cool.”

     Bucky shook his head, still hesitant. “They’re too traceable. I don’t like leaving footprints, digital or otherwise.”

     Steve lowered his voice. “If it’s HYDRA you’re worried about, they’re not going to get you back. I can promise you that.”

     Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but can we please just go home after this?”

     “At least think about it?” Steve tried one more time. 

     “Okay, yes, fine!” Bucky snapped. “I will think about it, but not today, okay?”

     “Alright.” Steve held up his hands in surrender. 

     “I’m sorry,” Bucky sighed, immediately regretting his tone. “Thank you, for everything you’re doing for me. I don’t deserve it, and I don’t mean to lash out. I just…it’s a lot.”

     Steve reached across the table to put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright. I know it’s not easy.”

     "No,” Bucky took another deep breath and softened his expression as he looked at Steve. Despite all the things Bucky was hiding, he felt understood. “It’s not easy.” 

     “As I understand it,” Steve let go of Bucky’s shoulder and leaned back in his seat. “You and I are pretty strong now, so I think we can get through it.” The look in his eyes was so sincere that Bucky had no choice but to believe him. 

     “Okay,” Bucky replied, cracking the tiniest hint of a smile. Steve didn’t have the whole picture, but maybe he was right. With all that Bucky had been through, he’d learned that hope could be futile, dangerous even. But the tiniest piece of him wanted to dream that maybe some things really would get easier someday. Steve did have more experience living in the modern world, so there could be some weight to his words. 

     Bucky scooped up his last bite of French toast and he and Steve fell into a comfortable silence. They finished up at the restaurant and effortlessly carried their haul back to the apartment. Much to Bucky’s relief, the afternoon passed uneventfully. He spent most of it curled up on the couch with a book, watching the snow fall through the living room window. 

     When he finally retired to his room for the night, Bucky stood considering his new clothes. He was a bit hesitant to remove his disguise, given that morning’s events. It had been a long day though, and he was getting antsy from keeping it all under wraps. He undressed, the contacts and the hat being the first to go. Now standing in just his boxers, Bucky blindly dug through the nearest bag, pausing when his fingers landed on a piece of familiar, yet unexpected fabric. He yanked the item out of the bag. 

     “Oh you’ve gotta be kidding me.” Bucky groaned.

     Somehow, Steve had managed to sneak in the dumb fuzzy cloud pants after all. Bucky rolled his eyes, balled up the pants, and tossed them on the floor. He continued to rifle through the bag until he found a pair of black sweatpants. The fabric was soft, there were pockets, and the legs were loose enough that his tail wouldn’t show obviously through them. As he pulled on the garment in the privacy of his room, he opted to leave the tail out, letting it sit over his waistband. Unfortunately, that left the tag on the pants just under the base of his tail, perfectly positioned to irritate the hell out of him as he tried to get comfortable. He laid down between blankets on the floor and proceeded to toss, turn, and readjust until he couldn’t take it anymore. He groaned and stripped off the sweatpants, exasperated by yet another losing battle. He was 0-4 for the day. 

     Bucky’s gaze landed back on the cloud pants and he was struck with an idea. The thought was almost as ridiculous as the pants, but what did he have to lose? Obviously he would not be wearing them around Steve, out of spite. In fact, he couldn’t imagine wearing these pants around anyone. And if they really are as cozy as he claims…

     Bucky extended the sharp titanium claw hidden in his left index finger and cleanly slashed a hole below the waistband on the back of the pants. If he wasn’t to be seen in these particular pants, why not experiment?

     Still not entirely convinced, Bucky stepped into the pants, carefully threading his tail through the hole. The difference was night and day. Immediately, this method felt much more natural to Bucky. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate how soft the fabric was against his legs. 

     God damn it, Rogers. I hate it when you’re right, Bucky muttered internally as he laid back down. This time, he found it much easier to relax.