Steve should have known to bring at least his shield. Or a gun. Hell, even a pocket knife would have worked. He, out of everybody in the world, should have known that just bringing his good ol' self wouldn't have been nearly enough. That even though he had remembered Steve even a little bit, it wouldn't have been enough. And that's how Captain Steve Rogers ended up with his old childhood friend trying to kill him. Again.
Despite Natasha's warnings, Steve had tried, and succeeded, to find his old friend. He just couldn't face the fact that the boy, who had grown up with him, had taken care of him when Steve was sick, had protected him from all of the bullies who Steve had picked fights with, was living.
No- Steve wouldn't use the term 'living'. If Buck was living, he would be by Steve's side, living with him in Stark's tower. He would be living with the other Avengers, cracking jokes and getting into the occasional fight. No, Bucky wasn't living. A better term would be alive, breathing, having the basic needs a human has. But not living.
It had taken Steve a few months to track him down, but he had eventually found him in an old abandoned building in Brooklyn. Of course, Steve had thought at the time. Even being brainwashed he still ends up in Brooklyn. He had explored the outside the building a few times, when he had known Bucky wasn't there.
It had taken a few days for Steve to get his courage up to want to go, and even more days to find the right time to go. But the day had finally arrived.
He broke into the building, knowing that this would set off various alarms Buck had set up. Steve figured instead of waiting until his former best friend came back from who knows, it would be faster to trip them. Alarms blaring, Steve sat down on one of the old ratty couches Bucky had, his back straight up and his knee bouncing up and down quickly. Steve guessed he didn't have to wait long before Bucky came through the doors, and he was right. No more than 5 minutes later, Bucky ran into the building, murder in his eyes.
Bucky slowed to a stop when he saw the blond haired, broad shouldered man sitting on his couch. He tilted his head, confusion washing over his face, but he never let down his guard.
"Hi Buck," Steve said hesitantly, not knowing how his former best friend was going to do to him.
Bucky seemed to freeze even more at the sound of that name. He knew he was Bucky, he had gathered that much from the museum, but he still didn't like being reminded. Even though HYDRA couldn't get to him, his mind still screamed at him not to remember; because remembering meant a painful forget. His whole body began to ache at the memory of forgetting.
"Stop calling me that."
Steve's face fell immediately when he heard that. "Come on Buck. Don't you remember me? Remember good ol' Brooklyn? You must since you're here." Steve said, quickly realizing this encounter might not go as well as he had hoped.
Bucky knew well enough he used to live in Brooklyn before everything, from the little blurb about him in the museum. He was oddly drawn to Brooklyn, and took shelter in the first abandoned building he found. Bucky, deciding that he didn't want to be reminded by anything right now, swiftly grabbed a pocket knife from his pant leg and lunged towards Steve.
The Captain had been prepared for a fight and wasn't expecting the fight to come this early in their encounter. He deftly dodged the Soldier's attempted to stab him, and backed away, not wanting to hurt him unless it was really necessary.
"Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to attack me? Don't you remember all of the fights you got me out of in the allies? You were always there for me. You somehow always knew when I needed help because I tried to take on a guy too big for me."
The Soldier lunged forward again, more forceful and clumsy this time, memories rushing to him. He did used to always save Steve from ally fights… but that was when he was Bucky and not the Winter Soldier. Bucky was the strong man who would never think twice to go into battle to fight in what he believed in. The Winter Soldier was a ruthless weapon who followed orders, no matter what the cost or who his mission was. Bucky grit his teeth and sprang forward again, hoping he could finish this mission.
Steve once again dodged, but realized that not fighting back wasn't an option if he valued his life and getting Bucky to come with him. He grabbed the arm that held the pocket knife, and twisted it behind Bucky's back. The knife fell out of Bucky's hands and landed on the floor with a clang. He broke out of Steve's grip, and threw a punch. Steve stumbled back, clutching his face. He had punched Steve with his metal arm, and holy hell it hurt. Steve tried one more time to try to get Bucky to remember, before he had to actually fight.
"What about that time you stayed with me? During one of the worst winters New York had ever seen? Do you remember that? Oh God, I was so sick. Buck, I thought that was it. But you. You stayed with me, you took care of me. You refused to give up on me. Do you remember that?" Steve stared hopefully into Bucky's eyes, looking for any sign that he recalled the memory.
Bucky's eyes had widened marginally, the memory taking over him.
"Stevie, how did you get this sick?" Bucky had rushed through a snowstorm to see Steve, when he had gotten the message that he was ill. He had quickly grabbed the medkit he had for just these occasions, making sure that he had everything. When Bucky had entered Steve's house, he could tell just by taking one look at his friend, that it was going to be a hard, hard winter.
"Oh, you know, thought I could take this one guy on, but he was just slightly bigger than me. Passed out in the snow." Steve croaked out, half smirk filling his pale face, trying to make light of the situation. But Bucky wasn't having any of it. He gave Steve a hard glare before asking how he was, what was hurting where, already thinking about where he could work extra hours to get enough money to buy some of the stronger, fancier medicines that will certainly help Steve.
"I feel like my head has been bashed in, I'm freezing cold, I don't think I can eat anything without throwing it up after 2 minutes and my throat hurts like hell." Steve looked up from the cocoon he had made himself on his couch, watching his best friend look through the box he had brought, knowing what was going through his mind. "Bucky, don't work extra for me. It's probably just the flu and it'll be over in a few days."
Steve had be so, so wrong. Days turned to weeks, and eventually months. There had been so many times where Steve could feel this was the last time he would fall asleep, knowing that tomorrow wouldn't be for him. He was ashamed to admit that there were times where he would have opened death in open arms, just to stop the pain, to stop being a burden for Bucky.
But Bucky never give up on him. He worked odd end jobs, despite Steve's protests, going to his house quickly to drop off whatever his family needed before heading straight to Steve's house. He would make some soup for Steve and himself, making sure Steve had at least a bowl in his stomach, and didn't throw it up. Eventually Steve would fall asleep and Bucky would leave the room to listen to the radio. Listening to the news, music, the weather, anything he could to try to get his mind off of his friend in the other room, praying he would wake up the next day. He would check on him every so often. There were times where Steve would have violent shivers, despite the countless blankets he had wrapped around him. Bucky would sometimes sneak into the bed when that happened, and wrapped himself around Steve, hoping some of his body temperature would move over to Steve's body. Eventually, Steve would stop shivering, and Bucky would stay. Every time, Bucky would kiss Steve's cheek before slowly falling asleep, at rest knowing he could still feel the boy breathing.
A rush of emotions hit Bucky just like the sickness had hit Steve; hard, quick and too much. Color drained from his face. I did help him, didn't I?
"No, no, no. Please, stop. I don't-" Bucky stopped his stammering immediately. The only way to get this to stop is to kill him. That will get him to stop, he thought to himself. He brought his guard up again, his face becoming hard and murderous.
Steve had, for a second, seen is former friend. He could see the flicker, the change that flew across his face. And in that instant, Steve was determined to get his friend back. No matter how many beatings it took.