A/N: I wrote this almost right after seeing Winter Soldier, but I couldn't end it at the time, and left it be. I read it again today and realized...I really like it. So rather than fight with myself to get to the smut like originally planned, I let this one stay PG-13. Maybe even PG, really. But I could be convinced to do a second part where this becomes hot and heavy. We'll see how the muse is feeling.

Inspired by me not being able to get the idea of Sam responding to Steve's final 'On your left' with an answering 'On YOUR left'.

Always On Your Left

I come up hard but that's okay

'Cause trouble man, don't get in my way

Steve woke up to a smooth voice crooning a song he didn't recognize. He liked the sonorous falsetto singer. Liked the gentle motion in the melody that might have made him sway if he were standing.

His first thought was, who turned on my radio?

Then he blinked, and the first wave of searing pain from opening his eyes, from the light coming in through the blinds, made him hold back a hiss as he remembered…everything. He was alive at least, though nothing about the battle he'd faced felt like victory.

He knew Sam was there even before his eyes caught a glimpse of the young veteran who would make an F-16 polite blush with envy if they ever saw him fly, and he understood now why music was playing.

"On your left," he said, trying not to wince or mind how much his voice sounded jagged and broken.

Sam glanced up at him with a small smirk. "On your left."

Steve hadn't sensed anyone else in the room, which made him assume it must be Natasha. She had a knack for stealth. He turned his head slowly with a ready smile but his expression went blank as he took in the figure in the chair beside him.

His chest tightened and he nearly choked on the name that left his lips. "Bucky…?

The man in the dark cotton jacket and plain white T-shirt, with a baseball cap pulled tight over his head, flinched barely perceptively, but Steve caught it. For a brief moment ice blue eyes looked at him from beneath the hat's rim and Steve felt all of his emotions well up like he might start sobbing, and all he could think was how much he wanted to hug Bucky for all he was worth.

Then Bucky stood and moved past the bed without a glance down at him.

"Bucky!" Steve called. "Where are you going?"

Bucky stopped before reaching the door—no, the Winter Soldier did, Steve could see that now. Bucky wouldn't have gotten up. Bucky would have stayed. He would have smiled, cracked a joke, smacked Steve on the shoulder even though he was still recovering, even if Bucky had been the one to inflict the damage in the first place.

But still, it had to mean something that the Winter Soldier was there.

"Bucky?"

"You're alive," the Winter Soldier said in a gruff near-whisper, only just barely tilting his head so that Steve caught a glimpse of his profile. "We didn't kill each other. We're even." He reached for the door knob.

"Wait!" Steve shot panicked eyes at Sam, who merely shook his head and shrugged. "Buck, please…don't leave. Please don't leave, we can sort things out. I can help you—" but Steve didn't get to finish saying 'get your memories back' before the door opened and quickly closed again with the assassin's departure.

Steve jerked up in bed only to grimace at the instant thrum of pain, then looked down to see how tied down he was with wires and tubes throughout his injured body.

"Do you…want me to go after him?" Sam asked, his voice and wide dark eyes betraying that he really hoped Steve said no.

Steve let himself sink back into the bed. "What happened?"

"Sorry, man," Sam said, visibly relaxing at being able to stay put. "That first day after they declared you stable, I fell asleep in here. Us normal folk can get pretty tuckered out saving the world, ya know? I woke up late afternoon…and there he was, in that chair. Never spoke a word to me, no matter how much I talked his ear off.

"The one time he got up—I assumed to use the bathroom; I mean, even you have to take a piss once in a while, I hope—I reached to stop him, just to ask if maybe he wanted to grab some coffee or something to eat…" Sam trailed and leaned back, inclining his head to his right at the nearby cabinets.

One of the doors was completely caved in and cracked, as if something…someone had been thrown into it.

Steve's frown deepened.

"The bruise is pretty impressive too," Sam smirked with a gingerly touch to his lower back, "but I'm alright. Didn't try the same thing again, though. And he came back. Just sat their vigil with me, waiting for you to wake up."

"He saved my life, Sam."

"He almost killed you first. Almost killed me. And Nat. And—"

"And a lot of other people, I know. Because they took his life away from him and programmed him into someone he's not." Steve slammed his fist down on the bed. If he had been at full strength, he probably would have pulled out a few of those tubes stuck in his arm.

"I know. And I know you're gonna wanna look for him, but maybe the best thing you can do is wait for him to come to you." Sam's eyes were sincere, his mouth a strange thin line without any of his usual snark in the expression. "Steve…he came here, didn't he? It's a start. But pushing him will only turn things sour. I think we've both learned that the hard way already." He grimaced as he shifted in his seat.

Steve sighed, feeling even more helpless than when the Winter Soldier's metal fist had been connecting with his jaw—over and over again. Then he'd had a challenge to face, and Steve Rogers never backed down from a fight. But sitting on the bench, waiting, doing nothing, in the hopes that things would work out on their own? That wasn't him.

"Patience, Cap," Sam said. "You need recovery time anyway. Just you wait. He'll be back.

The Winter Soldier did not come back. Not while Steve was in the hospital. Though Steve's stay was impressively short despite his injuries thanks to his 'Super Soldier Metabolism' as Sam put it. He was eager to get back to his apartment once they released him, holding on to some faint hope that Bucky might be waiting for him there.

He wasn't. Steve didn't wait even a day before calling everyone together to see what their next moves would be, but the world was still falling apart around them and Sam was the only one who volunteered to help Steve on his quest to search for the Winter Soldier. Steve would have been okay on his own, but he couldn't help a pleased smile to have a friend with him on the mission to find the first friend he'd ever known.

Steve didn't want them to get ahead of themselves though. They had to start in D.C. Maybe Bucky hadn't left, maybe he'd only gotten one state over, maybe he'd gone to New York…or Moscow. There were plenty of options, but first they needed to see what leads they could find in the city. Security from the hospital only gave Steve a general direction, but without S.H.I.E.L.D.S.'s full resources, he couldn't tell much else about where the Winter Soldier had gone. They had some digging to do.

It wasn't safe to stay in his apartment, but he figured they wouldn't remain in D.C. long if they caught wind of the Winter Soldier elsewhere, so Steve took his time deciding what personal belongings he needed and laid down for his last night in the apartment before he'd move in with Sam until they left the city.

Steve often slept with his window cracked. The sounds of New York had been the perfect lullaby, one he'd grown up with and cherished from boyhood days to adulthood, and D.C. had proven a close second for a soothing night's rest. Steve had assumed he'd be too anxious to sleep, but his body wasn't 100% yet, and he'd been pushing himself harder than ever. It was midnight before he hit the pillow, his things all packed by the door, and he was out the moment he closed his eyes.

He stirred around three AM, unsure at first what had woken him.

A hand clamped over his mouth and a blade pressed to his neck, but before he could think to react or struggle, he caught sight of icy blue.

"Move and I'll kill you."

Steve's breath hitched to hear that whispered voice and he immediately stilled.

"You're a fool," the Winter Soldier said, removing the hand from Steve's mouth but not the knife. "You have no reason to trust me but you still listen."

"I trust you, Buck, because—"

The knife pressed more firmly against Steve's throat. "Don't. Talk."

Steve gave an involuntary jerk, not sure what he could do if the Winter Soldier wouldn't let him move or speak.

After a moment of tense silence, the knife retracted.

Steve could make out the Winter Soldier in the dark now, as the assassin sat up on the edge of the bed. He was wearing the same jacket and T-shirt, the same ball cap. Had he showered since then? Had he eaten? Had he slept?

"I talk. You listen." The Winter Soldier paused then glanced down at Steve. "You can nod."

Steve nodded hurriedly. The voice of his friend, while hushed and gruff and angry, was a soothing balm he'd accept again and again, whatever it was he had to say.

The Winter Soldier stared forward, his arms falling to his sides, though the knife remained in his right, human hand. "I went to the Smithsonian."

That was not the explanation for this encounter that Steve had been expecting, and it took him a moment to register what that meant. He'd been to the exhibit—their exhibit.

"I read all about us. There. Online. I couldn't find anything…"

Steve furrowed his brow. There was plenty to find. Sure, there were the occasional items that weren't true, as was the nature of this era's communications what with the Internet, but it was easy to decipher what was real and what was gossip or made up nonsense.

"I remember…some things. When they found me, what they made me do, the cold…" He trailed a moment but his face remained blank in the dark, his eyes staring ever forward at some distant point on the wall. "I remember things from before too. Mostly this skinny kid…with a serious face. And a death wish."

Steve opened his mouth to protest that. He hadn't had a death wish, not when he was fending off bullies in back alleys, or when he was fighting to get into the war and play his part. Just because he had been born smaller and weaker didn't mean he couldn't put everything he was into protecting what he believed in. Bucky had understood that in the end, maybe only accepted it once Steve had a body that wouldn't break as easily or fall prey to an asthma attack, but he'd understood.

Maybe the Winter Soldier meant a different death wish—how this larger Steve had been willing to lay down his life if only the blows would stop and Bucky would be the one hovering over him in that carrier instead.

"I'm remembering it all wrong."

Steve's drifting thoughts snapped back to attention.

"I couldn't find anything," the Winter Soldier said again, still not elaborating on what it was he had been looking for. "So why do I feel this way…?"

Steve wondered if the assassin's mind was too muddled from everything that had happened, and starting to get his memories back had only confused him further, had him speaking nonsense.

The Winter Soldier's grip tightened on the knife in his hand. Steve could see the metal one remaining docile on his other side, gloved to hide it. "There were girls, so many faceless girls. I don't feel anything for them," he said.

Steve swallowed the bile in his throat, trying not to think of all the people Hydra had made his friend kill.

"I remember not feeling anything for them then either, but that has to be wrong. When I think of their hands on me…" He trailed again, remaining silent for a long time before he continued. "When I think of their hands on me…I wish they were yours."

It dawned on Steve slowly that the Winter Soldier wasn't talking about women he had killed but about women Bucky had fooled around with. He felt his face heat up and took in a sharp breath. The Winter Soldier turned his head at the noise.

"I'm remembering it wrong," he said again as he looked at Steve, taking the gasp for confirmation.

"I—"Steve snapped his mouth shut when the Winter Soldier's eyes sharpened on his.

Slowly, those icy blue eyes softened. "What?" he demanded. "Talk."

Steve took a breath. Half of him wondered if what he wanted to say was just wishful thinking, that maybe his friend's mind really was too messed up to bring back the way it once was and that's why he was having these thoughts and feelings for him now, but the other half hoped that maybe a dozen missed opportunities and moments that Steve had figured he was reading too much into might have meant something more.

"I don't know, Buck. Maybe you're not remembering it wrong."

"Then we were like that?"

"No," Steve said quickly, but he rushed to speak on if only to dismiss the flash of pain and confusion that crossed the Winter Soldier's face. "I wondered sometimes…if you felt the way I did. I tried so hard to tell you, Bucky, but it was a different time then. And I couldn't stand the thought that I'd lose you if you didn't feel the same, if you were plain disgusted with me, or worse…started pitying me."

Steve realized how much he'd just confessed, most of it a rambling mess he'd had in him for over 70 years. Longer. Peggy had been the only girl who ever got him to forget his feelings for Bucky. He could have been happy with her. But if he could have had Bucky…

"You let on so much that you liked being with those girls, I figured it had to be the truth," Steve said. "Those few times I let myself think differently…I don't know."

"What times?" the Winter Soldier prodded. "Tell me."

Steve glanced at the knife in the Winter Soldier's hand, which had glinted in the meager light from the window when the assassin leaned toward him. The Winter Soldier followed his gaze to the blade. He clutched the handle tightly for a moment, then slowly, keeping his eyes on Steve the entire time, slipped it into a hidden sheath on his leg.

If he decided he wanted to use the knife later, it wouldn't take much effort to draw it again, but his willingness to put it away was a start.

He leaned back to his stiff position on the edge of the bed, both hands resting on his thighs now. "Tell me," he said again, gentler, almost but not quite pleading. He didn't return his eyes to the wall, but watched Steve intently, barely blinking. It might have been unnerving from anyone else, but Steve had once been very used to Bucky's rapt attention whenever he told a story; he figured this was as close to that as he could get—for now.

"Well…" Steve began, finally allowing himself to relax a little as he lay there in the bed with his back-from-the-dead friend sitting at his hip. "When we were real little, it didn't matter, I know, because we were dumb kids, but…we were always so close. Always touching. If we slept at each other's houses, we'd practically wake up on top of each other by morning, all tangled up.

"I started feeling different about it as we got older. When I first felt jealous over your gals, I figured I just didn't want them to take my friend away, but…I missed your touches, missed sleeping all wrapped around each other even when it was sweltering out. So I'd crash your dates." He paused to grin, remembering all the ways he'd tried to make it seem like an accident, or came up with some excuse that Bucky was needed back home. "You never minded, not once. And if you got a girl for me, after I sabotaged that, which I always did, on purpose or otherwise, you never got angry. Only time you came close was…before you shipped off for the war.

"I knew you were just worried. Worried I wouldn't be able to take care of myself alone in New York. Worried more that I'd find a way to follow you, which was exactly what I did. But you never minded about the girls if I was there. More often than not, you'd send them home and we'd spend the rest of the night together.

"The time I really wondered, really thought for one brief moment that you might feel like I did…" Steve let his voice drop off, gaining the courage to bring this story up, one that had haunted him for years.

The Winter Soldier watched him patiently. It was difficult to meet his gaze while telling the story, penetrating as it was, so Steve stared instead at the curve of the assassin's elbow.

"We were teenagers, maybe a little older to still be sleeping at each other's houses, and we'd pulled all the couch cushions onto the floor like we always did. It wasn't too late yet, Ma was still up since she'd just gotten home from a late shift, and…and we were talking hushed in the dark of the living room, faces barely an inch apart, laughing. I can't even remember what we were talking about…

"Then we hit one of those silences that always happens in a conversation, though for us they were never awkward, just nice quiet. Your eyes…" Steve flicked his gaze to those same blue eyes and they were almost, almost the way he remembered them, softened now as he listened. "They just seemed so bright. And you had this little half smirk, and…I just wanted to kiss you so much I could barely stand it. I leaned forward a bit, and I could have sworn you did too. We were so close…and then Ma walked in asking if we needed anything," he finished with a hoarse laugh, his eyes dragging back down to the Winter Soldier's elbow. "We snapped apart, told Ma we were fine, and I guess I was just so scared that you'd realized what I was going to do, that you'd snapped away because you understood and..." He sighed.

"I didn't…" the Winter Soldier started to say but stopped.

Steve looked up, but the assassin had turned to find his place on the wall again.

"I snapped away…because you did," the Winter Soldier said. "I tried to bring it up once…"

That was news to Steve, because he couldn't remember Bucky ever talking about that night.

"Years later. You were…sad. You'd lost someone."

"Ma?"

The Winter Soldier glanced back to Steve and held his gaze again. "Ma…" he repeated, which he'd called Steve's mother anyway, since almost their first day as friends. "I wanted to put the couch cushions on the floor again…"

Steve grinned, remembering the conversation. It had been at the forefront of his mind since he first saw the Winter Soldier's face, when Bucky had told him, "til the end of the line."

"But you didn't want to."

Steve stared as it dawned on him what the Winter Soldier was saying. Was that true? Had Bucky been asking for something more that day than just the silly comforts Steve had assumed? It wasn't that Steve hadn't found Bucky's concern and method for making him feel better genuine or worthwhile, he had just felt like he needed to be strong on his own. Bucky was always protecting him, always there for him. How could Steve ever be there for Bucky if that was the way their lives always played out?

He sat up, bringing their faces almost instantly only a few inches apart. The Winter Soldier tensed but didn't pull away or reach for his knife.

"We're both idiots, Bucky," Steve said, looking deeply into those vibrant blue eyes that were watching him like a predator that didn't know whether or not it was staring down prey. "You're not remembering things wrong…we were just idiots."

That seemed to soothe something in the Winter Soldier, seemed to be enough to soften his anxiety as the tension rippled from his shoulders.

Slowly, Steve started to raise his right hand. The Winter Soldier tensed again, watching the hand as if it might be a weapon, but he didn't pull away, not even when Steve found harbor against his old friend's familiar face. He pulled the Winter Soldier closer until their foreheads touched. The assassin let out a shaky gasp of air. Steve kept his eyes trained on icy blue, however blurry from being so close.

"It's you, Buck. And it's me. Just like I said it would be. 'Til—"

"'Til the end of the line," Bucky breathed out in a jagged whisper.

Steve smiled. "Yeah."

Steve didn't have any real plan beyond that moment. He wasn't good at instigating intimacy. All the girls he'd ever kissed had all made the first move. So when the Winter Soldier pushed himself forward until their mouths met, Steve was startled but pleased. He'd dreamed of reuniting with Bucky like this. The first time he lost him, he'd envisioned it, showing up to save the day in his new body, sweeping Bucky off his feet, and kissing him for all he was worth. He'd done just that save the kissing part. To have it now…

The Winter Soldier's lips weren't as chapped as he expected. They were damp, as if he'd licked them, bitten them. They moved hurriedly, but with a faint sense of skill from all those dames Bucky had seduced so easily. Steve had always been so envious of those gals.

"Please don't go," Steve whispered against those soft, eager lips when they pulled apart.

"You're leaving," the Winter Soldier said simply.

"Only to stay with Sam, somewhere safe while we looked for you," Steve explained. "But now that you're here, if…if you stay, Buck, we can go wherever you want. Anywhere you want. Just stay. Please." Steve moved his hands to rest on the Winter Soldier's arms and slowly moved them up his shoulders. He could tell the assassin shied from touch on his metal arm, the way he flinched subtly only on that side, but he didn't brush Steve away, even when Steve's hands finally rested behind his neck.

"I don't…know who I am," the Winter Soldier said, so softly that if Steve didn't have super blood in his veins, he probably wouldn't have heard it.

"Sure you do. You're still remembering, but you know. I'll help you remember, Bucky, and it'll be okay. It'll be tough, and scary, and I know there will be times when you'll want to run, but I promise you…everything will be okay as long as you're with me."

"Your friends—"

"My friends trust me. They'll listen. Sam already likes you," Steve said with a smirk, which was mostly true, much as Sam had complained about his bruised back ever since the moment Steve woke up. "We can start with tonight. One night, Buck. And every night after will get easier. I promise." Steve pulled away from the Winter Soldier so he could lie back, but he tugged at the covers on the other side of the bed at the same time so that they fell away from where another pillow rested—empty.

When the Winter Soldier stood, Steve held his breath, prepared to launch out of the bed and tackle his friend to the ground if he had to, but the assassin didn't move to leave as Steve feared. He undressed. Slowly. Meticulously. Neatly folding each piece of fabric or hidden weapon in a pile in the corner. When he was down to just a T-shirt and boxers, he went around the bed to the other side. He didn't hesitate, merely slipped in soundlessly with barely a disturbance of the covers, and lay down with his head on the offered pillow.

Steve always slept on one side of a bed if it was big enough for two, as if he'd been waiting for this for decades—saving a place for Bucky.

The Winter Soldier didn't smell like he hadn't showered. He smelled clean but simple, no aftershave, no cologne. He smelled like Bucky Barnes.

"You're still recovering. You should sleep," the Winter Soldier said, staring up at the ceiling.

"You should too," Steve admonished.

Bucky turned his head to look at him—Bucky, not the Winter Soldier, much as a ghost of the assassin remained in his icy blue eyes. "I'll sleep," he said.

Steve heard the real meaning.

I'll stay.

And as Steve closed his eyes and gave way to sleep himself, he felt more relaxed, more relieved, more like himself than he had in a long time, certain Bucky would still be there in the morning.

On Steve's left. Right where he belonged.

THE END (maybe...)