AN:

Hello readers!

This little tidbit was my prompt fill for the Gen Fic Swap over at AO3. My prompter requested a fic dealing with the aftermath of the Winter Soldier and Bucky getting used to the world again. I'll be posting the chapters one by one here over the next couple of days. Keep an eye out for them!

This was an incredibly fun story to write, as I have never had a chance to write an entirely Bucky centric fic until now. He's an interesting head to get into, and it was certainly a wild ride. Be warned, there's a healthy smattering of angst to balance out the quips (c'mon, of course there is, this is Bucky fresh out of the Winter Soldier brainwashing) and while it is certainly not too heavy, I figured it would be best to give you a warning.

With that out of the way, standard disclaimer is standard. I do not own any of these characters. The only thing I own is my writing.

Happy reading!

It took five months, two weeks, and four days to find him in the end.

They'd followed their intel, and like they had for the past half year, they had saddled up and taken off in the direction they only hoped he would still be heading in by the time they got there. They held tightly onto the thought that the next op wouldn't come up as empty handed as the last thousand they had conducted, but after so much time had passed, they couldn't quite keep the niggling feeling of doubt that had slowly but surely begun to creep into their minds.

He ignored the feeling for the sake of his sanity.

Sam was always there beside him. Or, above him, as it were. Natasha helped where she could, the newfound trust between them sparking a camaraderie that he would have preferred be created through much less drastic means. As explosive a camaraderie as it was, however, a camaraderie it was all the same.

They had gradually made progress. Slowly, slowly the net they had begun weaving around their target closed in on itself, and the chase took them from stateside to stateside, one edge of the country to the next as they pursued him. It was just Sam and Steve together the day they finally cornered him much closer to home than they ever had imagined in a waterlogged cabin in the mountains of Gatlinburg, Tennessee.

The downpour had practically soaked the abandoned building to it's foundations, and as Steve had nudged the rotted wood of the door open slowly, his shield held tightly to his arm, the soft dripping of the rain running through the gaping cracks in the roof and falling steadily into the puddles coating the carpet were the first things he had truly noticed.

The second thing was the pair of legs sticking out from the darkest corner of the building, the booted feet pointing in opposite directions and laying perfectly still.

Steve had waved Sam off then (much to the pilot's chagrin) and had stepped carefully inside, his own boots disturbing the steadily growing puddles and making the floorboard creak slightly. He had stopped then, eyes never leaving the shadowed form in the corner. There was no reaction to the noise, and he had continued his slow approach.

By the time he was kneeling in front of the slumped figure, his eyes had picked up on every detail Bucky had to silently offer.

His back was against the splintered wall, the water seeping through his tattered shirt and puddling around him, swirls of dirt and grime running in rivulets down his form and collecting on the rugged floor. His arms were limp at his sides, the glint from the metal of his prosthetic drawing attention away from the shape the cybernetic enhancement was truly in. Dents littered its surface, and if Steve had to guess from the angle it was at, some of the joints were either entirely or well on their way to being out of order. His hands were splayed lightly on the ground, palms open and facing upwards as water dripped steadily from the ceiling to land neatly in his flesh hand, the liquid gently running down the sides of his fingers. Overall, he had looked like he had beaten and battered and generally needed to sleep for a week. It was difficult to tell from the still figure alone if he was his own mind.

But his face.

His face gave Steve pause.

His eyes were staring into nothing, not even a flicker of his eyelids giving any sign that he had noticed Steve crouching in front of him. Purple bruises stood stark against his chalky skin beneath those unseeing eyes, and his mouth was a thin-lipped line, the perfect picture of tension as his jaw ticked slightly from the pressure of being locked for god knew how long. His hair clung to his face in sopping strands, the tight clasp of it emphasizing the gauntness of his face as it framed his cheekbones.

Steve wasn't one to sugarcoat nowadays.

He looked like hell.

Steve had remained silent for a long time, his eyes just roving slowly, blankly over the man who had once been his best friend. The quiet was only interrupted by the steady dripping of the rain on the roof and the carpet. He could hear Sam huffing in frustration just outside the door after another minute of silence passed with no movement from either side.

He had just opened his mouth to address the fallen soldier when Bucky spoke, his voice a hollow echo of what it used to be.

"End of the line."

Steve blinked as the ghost in front of him finally moved, his head tilting back so he could look the man kneeling before him in the eye. A spark of something was in them again, and the dull glassiness they had held only minutes before seemed to be disappearing as his jaw unclenched with a jumpy tick.

"You meant that."

Steve grinned slowly at the hoarse words. It was a grin full of sadness and desperate hope, but a grin nonetheless.

"Yeah, I did." He hesitated then before continuing slowly with a humorless laugh. "I've been told I'm… stubborn that way."

Bucky stared at him for a long while, the rain dripping down his face and carving a line through the grime on his cheeks. Then, with a slow twist of the corners of his lips that seemed almost painful to him, he grinned.

For the first time since Steve had seen him before enlisting, Bucky grinned. They stayed that way for a short while, Steve with his elbows resting lightly on his knees, his hands clasped loosely and dangling between his crouched legs as he regarded the broken man before him. Bucky had shaken his head softly, his eyes never leaving Steve's face. The light in his eyes sparkled even brighter, and his grin grew heartbreakingly stretched when Steve realized the moisture on his friend's face was not all accountable from the rain. Bucky shifted then, his prosthetic moving with a creaking groan and staying splayed awkwardly to his side. He ignored it as his eyes searched Steve's face. When he opened his mouth again, his watery grin wavered alongside the pained relief that had swamped his eyes.

"Steve."

Steve's smile grew broader, and he ignored Sam's muffled complaints coming through the walls as he stared back into the eyes of his reclaimedfriend.

"Heya, Bucky. It's been a while."

He'd willingly taken the offered arm from Steve then, his face morphing into a pained grimace of a grin that didn't match the haunted glaze covering his eyes. He'd stumbled out of the soaked cabin with Steve's support, barely registering when another man silently slid beneath his other arm and hefted the rest of his weight off of his feet entirely. He was too busy dealing with the last of the demons whirling inside his mind as he clasped the hand on Steve's shoulder into his friend's- not mission, never a mission-shirt, desperate for some anchor point into reality that wasn'tassign, search, kill, assign, search, kill. A chunk of the wall he'd never realized had been erected in his mind fell away with a silent huff of an exhale as he drew himself and his entourage to a stumbling stop, and he blinked up at the man on his left who had gone through hell and back for him.

And just like that, the Winter Soldier died.

But James 'Bucky' Barnes was reborn in the support of a spy and a soldier outside of a waterlogged cabin in the shelter of the mountains of Tennessee.

The first week after he'd been found was hazed over, the vague flashes of images he got at some times not substantial enough for him to know if they were real or simply illusions pulled up from an overly exhausted mind.

Heat and flames. The rattling of gunfire. The wind whipping through his hair.

A soft scratchiness on his skin and a white ceiling. Blonde hair. A familiar face.

Bitter cold. Agony and ice.

A steady, staccato beep. Murmuring voices. Papers shuffling.

Screaming. Orders. Obedience.

No.

Not anymore.

When he came to himself enough to be aware of his surroundings, the first things he took in were the pillows at his back and a blanket tucked around his knees. His vision had been blurred as he had groggily blinked back to reality, the odd assortment of tubes and tape littering his arms the first thing he truly saw. He couldn't quite bring himself to panic at the sight. He'd seen it enough over the last fifty years (was it really fifty? God, he didn't know…) to really be fazed by the objects. His eyes had roved upwards then, landing on the sleek white surroundings of the single ward. The harsh coldness of the bleached walls hurt to look at, so his eyes had drifted to the only object in the room that wasn't quite so unnaturally unfamiliar.

Steve had been there, his feet kicked up and crossed on the edge of the bed and a glossy magazine held loosely in his hands, his head tilted down towards the object on his lap. His eyes had been staring blankly at the pages, and as Bucky had looked at him, the sudden mantra of Steve Steve Steve that's Steve, oh god, he survived, he's here, thank god, I didn't kill him, my best friend, oh god rushed through his longer he had looked at him, the more his chest felt like it was going to implode with the conflicting swell of happiness and sheer agony.

The feeling had culminated in a long, low groan.

Steve had started violently at the noise, the magazine falling to the floor with a pitiful thwap as his hands flailed suddenly to grip for the arms of the stiff hospital chair. His legs had kicked back from the bed with a jerk, and the momentum had sent him crashing to the floor with a shocked "Buc-woah!" The rattling of the collapsed metal chair reverberated in the room as hestared up from his sprawled position at Bucky, who had regarded him blankly from the elevated bed, the suddenness of Steve's change in position not quite registering just yet in his groggy mind. It was a long minute before the atmosphere changed enough for words to even be considered.

Bucky was the first to break the silence.

He had opened his mouth and seized slightly as he had choked, a hacking noise erupting from his throat and his eyes boring into Steve's as the man scrambled to find his feet. Steve's brow had been furrowed in worry as he had gripped Bucky's bicep, his eyes roving rapidly over his friend as the horrible noise continued. His voice had been high and, if Bucky hadn't known any better at the time, on the verge of panic.

"Bucky? Hey, you alright? What's wr-"

Bucky had cut him off then by rolling his head back on the pillow and letting loose a loud, unreigned, undoubtedly hysterical laugh.

Steve had stared at him for a long moment as he kept laughing, the noise and sensation unfamiliar to him in a way that made him want to quit laughing and start sobbing. When had he last laughed? He truly couldn't remember. The sound was harsh and grating, puffing out in a wheezing echo of what his laugh might once have been, but it seemed to be enough to have Steve dropping his head and loosening his death grip on Bucky's arm. When he straightened out again, a painfully gaping smile was stretched across his face, and if his eyes were apprehensively relieved when he coughed a short laugh of his own, Bucky dutifully ignored the fact.

He had laughed until it hurt, and then he kept right on laughing, tears springing to his eyes as the hoarse feeling scraped at his throat. All of the tension and bitterness and pressure of what he would have to accept as his excruciating reality lightened, just barely lightened as the hysteria passed and a thick swarm of simple relief to have been pulled back from the brink rushed over him, leaving the battle in his chest feeling slightly less turbulent than it had before. That was Steve next to him shaking with suppressed laughter of his own, his hand gripping his own chest as he trembled with the entirely unexpected reaction.

Steve was there with him.

And that meant he had to finally be going in the right direction.

The manic laughter died out slowly as Bucky had gasped for breath, his hand wiping futilely at his eyes as the beeping noise gradually grew louder than his own choked voice. When Steve had seemed certain he was done with his outburst, he had sat heavily on the edge of the bed, his head shaking as his smile diminished into a tired grin. He'd spoken then, his voice level and just so Steve that Bucky could physically feel his throat constricting with the want to laugh again in his disbelief.

"Not exactly the way I wanted to welcome you back, but with a reception like that, I don't think it was too bad."

Bucky had waited a long minute before he had lifted his flesh shoulder in a tiny shrug, letting it fall heavily back against the pillows. His voice was quiet but strong, a ghost of a grin tugging at his lips.

"It had all the dignity of the clown I know you actually are." He had paused for a moment before tacking on a belated "Captain."

Steve had relaxed in earnest then, the tension in his shoulders draining immediately and causing his entire form to sag in on itself as he had reached a hand out and clasped Bucky's shoulder. He'd given him that little lopsided grin he'd always associated with a scrawny kid from Brooklyn then, and his next words had made Bucky realize the heart he had thought no longer existed might actually still rest in his chest as he felt something lighten inside of him at his friend's steady declaration.

"Welcome back, Bucky."

He only tilted his head back with a tug of a grin on his lips as acknowledgement as Steve righted his chair and settled down, a more serious expression crossing his face. He leaned forward, his chin balanced on the tips of his steepled fingers as he regarded Bucky quietly.

"I hate to have to ask you this now, but it was the only condition they'd give me to let me stay in here with you."

Bucky had felt himself trying desperately to raise an eyebrow, but he doubted it actually happened as he stared blankly back.

Steve took a breath then, scrubbing a hand over his face as he did so before locking eyes with Bucky again.

"How much do you remember?"

The silence lasted a full minute before Bucky finally broke his eye contact, choosing instead to tilt his head back on the pillows and stare blankly at the ceiling. It was easier that way. He didn't have to see the thinly veiled caution in Steve's eyes. He spoke slowly, choosing each word as carefully as he could.

"Just…pieces, here and there. I…" He paused, his throat tightening slightly as he forced himself to press on. "I don't remember thinking. Or reallylooking at anything. But… I remember targets. Names. Faces. Who I killed. Who I made suffer. Who they wanted-" He stopped abruptly, not trusting his next words to not sound strained as he swallowed past the unexpected lump in his throat. He let his head drop with a puff of an exhale, and he caught a glimpse of Steve looking at him with an entirely neutral expression. He couldn't quite keep a humorless laugh from bubbling out at the sight.

That was one of the millions of reasons he'd always liked Steve.

He never reacted until you were well and truly finished.

Bucky had lifted a hand lightly to run through his hair. He was shocked to find it significantly softer than he had remembered it being. Someone must have washed it for him. For some reason, the thought made him want to sob. He continued talking to distract himself from the battle of emotions slowly beginning to swell back in his chest.

"And I remember seeing things I'm… still not sure were real or not. Like… the cars. When did they get so… round?"

It was a poor attempt at lightening the mood, and Bucky watched Steve carefully, his heart pounding painfully as he searched for any kind of reaction. Some tiny part of his mind berated him for the stupidity of it, but he couldn't help looking for any revulsion or grim acceptance.

But Steve had grinned. He'd leaned back in his chair, the lags teetering slightly off of the ground as he spoke.

"If that shocked you, man, you are not ready for some of the things I've had to get used to."

And that was the moment Bucky knew things would be alright in the end.

It would take time, but they would.

Steve wouldn't allow anything else.

He met Sam first.

He'd been cleared from the hospital, but only under incredibly strict orders of a house arrest until something called a "Fury" was in contact with Steve. The name registered dimly for him, and flashes of an enormous explosion and a ruined car sparked across his memory before he could firmly clamp them out.

There had been an incredible amount of arguing in the hallway outside of his room in the hospital when Steve had told him he was getting him out of the ward, but in the end, the doctor had stormed in, tossing the discharge forms onto his lap before spinning on his heel and leaving without a word.

Steve had definitely learned how to debate in the time he'd become America's poster child.

Bucky had walked out of the room and into the moonlit parking lot on his own, his eyes squinting with the sudden darkness of the night. The feeling of clean clothes on his back and freshly washed hair had practically made him bawl with relief when he'd first become aware of the fact. His prosthetic was sticking oddly in some of it's joints, but the feeling was barely a ghost on his mind as he rolled his shoulders, his arm bumpingSteve's as they made their way across the lot. Steve had stuck to his side like glue, his shoulder brushing the cold metal that Bucky still refused to look at sometimes. He could vaguely understand his want of being so close.

Steve had lost his best friend once. He wasn't planning on letting it happen again under his watch.

He'd been properly introduced to Sam Wilson then. The man was leaning against a ridiculously opulent looking sports car, his arms folded tightly across his torso as his face remained expressionless behind his dark sunglasses. Bucky couldn't help but wonder why the hell he would choose to wear sunglasses at night, but from what little he had heard about the man from Steve, he couldn't say he was entirely surprised at the modern mask. Steve had exchanged their names then, and the two had stared each other down for an unnervingly long moment before Sam had shaken his head ruefully with the smallest grin Bucky had ever seen.

"You've got some insane upper body strength, man. I'm guessing you never skipped arm day."

Bucky had only stared blankly at him as the man had popped open the door to the car behind him, sliding into the driver's seat and pressing a button which triggered the other doors to release and glide open over the roof of the bright red and black vehicle. He blinked before shooting an uncertain look to Steve, who had a wry grin of his own on his face. The super soldier had tilted his head back lightly before addressing the lost, questioning look on Bucky's face.

"He's, ah, he's probably going to be sore about the steering wheel thing for a while. Give him some time."

Bucky didn't have the trust in the stability of his sanity to question what he meant by "steering wheel thing".

The drive was surprisingly short as the enormous high rise Steve had told him was their destination rose into sight out the front windshield of the ridiculously high tech car. The outrageously tall building was their apparent lodgings, as Steve had slowly fed him bits of information in the hospital about where he would be going for his "reprogramming," as the doctors had bitterly called it. Steve's ragtag Brady Bunch was based out of the building, and the group seemed to come and go as if it belonged to each of them exclusively. It had sounded as if it truly did, as Steve had explained to him the apartments kept high above the main floors of the tower. Each 'Avenger', as he had awkwardly called them, had their own floor, and was free to come and go as they pleased. Some stayed indefinitely, others dropped by and crashed now and again. He had called ahead when Bucky had first been cleared for departure, and an apartment had already been prepared for him, with him in mind.

Bucky had highly doubted that fact.

It wasn't until they had pulled into the parking garage under the brightly lit building and boarded the sleek, buttonless elevator that Steve told him just who the building belonged to.

Tony Stark.

The name had sparked something in his brain, and something unpleasant rammed mercilessly into his gut as his mind raced through his memories in a desperate search for just what had caused the reaction. He had known Howard Stark briefly. Of course, that had been before the night he had fallen… he had fallen from… from the…

The sudden presence of Steve's hand on his shoulder broke him from his reverie, and he had shot an unsteady glance to his friend when the doors to the elevator closed without a sound. Steve was regarding him with a carefully concerned expression, and Sam was peering over his shoulder, the absence of his sunglasses putting the apprehension in his eyes on perfect display. Bucky pulled in a harsh breath, shaking his head and lightly brushing Steve's hand off as he did so. He could do this.

He had to do this.

Steve scrutinized him for another long moment before turning his focus upwards. Bucky found himself watching in disbelief as he began to speak to the paneled ceiling.

"Jarvis, take us to the main floor, please. And let Tony know we're here."

Bucky could almost physically feel every dark shadow lingering on his thoughts come to a screeching stop as he stared openly at his friend. He shot a glance to Sam, but the pilot wasn't looking his way, In fact, he wasn't looking at Steve either. He appeared perfectly happy to examine a hangnail on his thumb with the most bored expression Bucky had yet to see in his new life.

He had just begun considering questioning his friend's sanity when a sudden polished voice reverberated throughout the small space.

"Of course, Captain Rogers. Mister Stark has already been notified. He… kindly requests you show Sergeant Barnes his room yourself, as he is further preoccupied in the lower levels at the moment."

Well.

That, Bucky had definitely not been expecting.

He almost missed Steve's snorted "yeah, I bet he is" as the lift began it's ascent, his mind whirling as he sorted through the fragments of his memories of the Winter Soldier. A sentient elevator? What else had changed in the time he'd been under? Surely he would have been aware of something like this-

He must have voiced the thought aloud, because when he blinked himself back into reality, he found Steve rubbing the top of his head sheepishly and Sam looking slightly guilty as he shifted in place. Steve shook his head then as he leaned back against the wall to the elevator, crossing his arms across his chest as he did so.

"Right. Sorry, I should have warned you about Jarvis. Guess it's… well, it's weird to say I've gotten used to it. Just didn't occur to me." He rolled his shoulders slightly as he focused his attention on Bucky's perplexed face. "Jarvis is… well, he's a part of the building, really. He's…" Steve paused, his face puckered in thought as he seemingly searched for the right words. "…a computer program Tony created to help him run the place."

The steady voice suddenly drifted back into the room, the faintest hint of reproach in it's accented tone. "All due respect, Captain Rogers, but I am in fact an artificial intelligence system. And my sole purpose is not to "run the place", as you so loosely put it."

Steve raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, the slightest hint of a grin on his face. "Sorry, Jarvis. Still getting used to the terminology myself." At the sight of Bucky's anxious expression, he sobered instantly.

"Don't worry about it, Buck. He's here to help."

The elevator slowed considerably then as Bucky wrestled with something to say in response, and as the doors slid open with a sleek swoosh, Bucky got his first glimpse of the interior of Stark Tower.

It was already too much.

Steve stepped out of the elevator in front of him, seemingly unaware of his gaping expression as he stared openly at the enormous windows that looked out over the lights of the city and the ridiculous amount of plushly cushioned furniture scattered in a loose circle around a long, low table in a recessed part of the carpeted floor. An enormous screen was set up in the center of the circle, and a three dimensional symbol that looked identical to the one on the outside of the building was spinning lazily across it. He turned his focus away from the seating area as he stepped into view of what looked like the entrance to a sleek kitchen. A bar was all that stood between the room and the tile of the kitchen, and Bucky couldn't keep himself from gawking at the ridiculous amount of alcohol shelved over the counter. There was no way one man would ever need that much hard liquor.

He second guessed that thought as his brain cruelly flickered back to his past year in that moment.

Steve's voice broke into his reverie then, and he pulled himself out of his staring to look at his friend, who was standing with his hands in his pockets as he leaned lightly against an overstuffed couch in the other room. "Stark has a thing for the grandiose. In case you haven't noticed yet." The sarcasm in his voice didn't go over Bucky's head, but he found all he could do was nod absently as his eyes roved around the room. When he reached the point where his eyes were simply staring at nothing in particular, Sam stepped forward with a roll of his shoulders and a pop of his neck. The pilot groaned lightly as he stretched before darting his eyes between Steve and Bucky.

"Well, uh… I'm going to hit the sack, gentlemen. Been a bit of a long day and I could use some serious sleep right about now before I leave tomorrow." He locked eyes with Bucky, and while they didn't hold the same amount of suspicion they had in the elevator, they were still apprehensive.

It hurt Bucky that he couldn't blame him.

Sam stuck a hand out, that small grin on his face again. "Good to have finally met you, man. I hope you stick around for a while. I'll stop in and visit when I can." The questioning look on Bucky's face had him shrugging with a sigh. "Got lot of things I need to settle now. It's… definitely going to take a while. But hey. I'll deal."

Bucky regarded him for a short second before gripping the hand offered and giving it a single, solid shake, his only response a nod. It appeared to be all Sam needed, as he turned on his heel and walked past Steve with a mocking salute before disappearing down the hallway at the end of the room. Steve just smiled with a snort before turning back to address Bucky, who was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"The rest of the team will probably be stopping through in the next few days. They tend to come and go. I'll introduce you eventually. You'll probably end up meeting Tony first." He paused, a slightly bitter expression on his face. "If he ever leaves the lab, that is."

Bucky was almost relieved he hadn't met this Tony yet.

Steve took him back to the elevator then, allowing Jarvis to bring them up a few floors to the level which undoubtedly held Bucky's room. He stood outside of the smooth faced door uncertainly, and at a slight cough from Steve, the door opened on it's own accord. Bucky glanced ruefully at the ceiling.

He got the feeling this Jarvis never let anyone in the building out of it's sight.

Bucky stepped into the dark room slowly, his eyes struggling to adjust to the inky blackness. He stood rooted to the spot for a moment before Steve stepped in after him and pressed a small button on the wall that Bucky hadn't even thought to give any attention to. The lights rose slowly, and Bucky found his face going slack at the sight in front of him.

There was a leather couch stretched across the middle of the room turned towards a floor to ceiling window with an astounding view of the city lights. A small coffee table sat in front of it, a stack of incredibly thick books artfully placed in the center. There was a smaller chair off to the side, and a sleek screen not unlike the one downstairs mounted on the wall in the corner. A large bookshelf was leaning carefully against the other wall, and as Bucky slowly walked past it with his eyes roving over the spines, he was unsurprised to find a few titles of his favorite pieces. A small kitchenette with a gleaming refrigerator and a fully stocked wet bar stood on one side of the room, and a step down to the other side revealed a doorway that led to a comfortable bedroom, all thick sheets and enough pillows to suffocate in. The bathroom had an enormous shower with more complicated handles and knobs than most aircraft did, and Bucky stared in disbelief as he counted five separate shower heads poking from odd spots in the ceiling and walls. A walk in closet was fully stocked with flannels and loose tee shirts, and as he roamed over to examine them, he vaguely noted that they were his size. The entire apartment was quite literally designed for him.

Bucky hated it.

As he stared at the deliberate attempts of creating something relatable, he found the hole in his heart growing larger despite his desperate attempts to stem the bleeding. He should have some sort of connection with the few personal things in this room, but try as he might, he couldn't find it. He couldn't find it.

It almost felt like whatever piece of him had once been able to connect with his past life had just up and died.

Steve broke the silence then, his steady voice barely registering in Bucky's inner turmoil. "There should be something more comfortable to sleep in in the closet there. The showers aren't really that difficult, either, if you wanted to clean up a bit. Just ignore all of the extra…" He flapped a hand helplessly as he searched for a word. He gave up on it as he noted Bucky's forlorn expression. Steve was silent for a moment before clearing his throat. "I can crash on the couch in here, y'know. If you're not comfortable with being alone-"

"No, it's fine," Bucky interrupted as he caught up with the conversation. He turned to face his friend in full, a desperate attempt at looking comfortable pulling his face into a ghost of his old expression. He continued before Steve could interrupt. "Super soldier or not, you need sleep, too. Don't pretend like you got any the entire week you were waiting up in the hospital."

Steve had the sense of self to look sheepish, and he rubbed at the back of his head lightly. "It's really not a problem-"

"Steve." Bucky stepped forward, planting his flesh hand solidly on his friend's shoulder. "I'm okay. I just… I just want to think a few things through. And honestly, all I really want to do is sleep at this point."

His friend regarded him for another long moment, his face clearly giving away that he knew he was lying. He shrugged lightly then as he stepped back to the door, his expression uncertain. "If you need anything, ask Jarvis, you got that? My place is right down the hall."

Bucky nodded half heartedly, and Steve raised an eyebrow at him.

"I mean that. Don't try to sort through things on your own, Bucky. I can help you."

Bucky just smiled sadly at him.

"You got it."