Hello, my readers! This was a Tumblr prompt from cybertastic. My sister and I co-wrote this. She is on tumblr with the user name lovecybelle. Mine is consultingumbrella. Links to tumblr and AO3 will be provided at the bottom. Enjoy!

Bucky lashed out, each movement quick and calculated. Felling the last of the several HYDRA agents who had cornered him outside the Smithsonian exhibit, he staggered out of the alleyway, and attempted to examine his many injuries, the main one being the wound on his chest, bleeding slowly through his clothes. He was also pretty sure some of his ribs were broken, as well as the numerous cuts, burns, and who knows what else that he had accumulated in the aftermath of SHEILD's downfall, and the encounter with his tormentor's deadly weapons. On top of it all, his right arm was throbbing from whatever Steve had done to it on the helicarrier. He hesitated, knowing he needed help, but it was impossible to go to any kind of doctor. He sighed in desperation, remembering something a recent mission. Ten minutes later, he was breathing heavily and faint from blood loss, somehow finding the strength to scale the fire escape of what was hopefully indeed Steve's DC apartment. Too exhausted to consider other options, he collapsed, passing out on Steve's couch, his last conscious thought wishing desperately that no one would find him.

Steve nodded to his neighbor-turned-secret-agent grimly and fished in his pocket for his keys. He had just gotten back from a special assignment for S.H.I.E.L.D. and was ready to collapse. He opened his door, flicked on the lights, and dumped his backpack on the floor. With a weary sigh, he turned to his couch, only to realize it was already occupied. It was Bucky. Bucky Barnes, in his home. Unintentionally, Steve's jaw dropped. He tentatively took steps toward the couch, and then kneeled beside it. "Bucky?" he whispered. "Bucky, are you ok?" Then he noticed the blood.

Bucky's eyes snapped open, his assassin's instincts sensing someone else's presence, and instantly he stiffened and sat up, switching automatically into combat mode. He had a small handgun out immediately, eyes wild and disoriented as he scanned his surroundings, focusing on Steve.

The captain slowly reached out and put his hand atop Bucky's. Gently, he lowered the gun. "Buck, it's me. Steve. Remember?

Bucky flinched and pulled away, unfamiliar with a friendly touch, and not used to willingly let anyone disarm him. 'The target must be eliminated' screamed a voice inside his head. He stayed tense for a second, staring at the achingly familiar face. He finally relaxed slightly, allowing the gun to be lowered. "Steve?"

A smile spread across Steve's face. "So you do remember." Still grinning, he got up and retrieved his first aid kit from the kitchen. "Let's see what we can do about those wounds." he called to Bucky. When Steve returned, he knelt by the sofa again and started analyzing Bucky's injuries. "Uh, Buck," he said nervously. "I can't treat your cuts if I can't see them."

Bucky frowned slightly at the idea of being exposed and vulnerable, before mechanically reaching up to take off his shirt. He let out a barely audible gasp of pain, his shoulder and bruised ribs protesting at the movement. He struggled with the shirt for a moment, before tearing it off and sinking back onto the couch.

Steve studied the damage for a moment. There were cuts scattered across Bucky's chest, 11 or 12 at the most. He winced. "Geez, Buck. I'm sorry I did this to you." He pulled some sterilized pads from the first aid kit, and after squinting at the microscopic writing, ripped the wrappers off and dabbed the cuts. After bandaging them, he sat back and admired his work. 'Not bad', he thought.

Bucky stayed silent and still, cautiously following Steve's every move. He still didn't know what to think, or how much he would remember. Just flashes, bits and pieces. He remembered a scrawny kid, who he had always defended, no matter the cost. He remembered laying in a dim, crowded room, a man coming to rescue him, no longer a scrawny kid but a hero. He remembered a feeling that he should trust Steve, a willingness to follow him anywhere. Details and chronological events were harder, and everything seemed disconnected from his life now. To an extent, he knew Steve Rogers. He wasn't sure if he knew Bucky Barnes.

Steve walked to his fridge and tossed Bucky an ice pack. "Hey, Buck, remember when we went to the World Fair? Gosh, that's when it all began." He strolled back to the living room and sat down in a chair adjacent to Bucky. "If it weren't for you, I might not be alive today. I might have grown up a normal man. But this century, this age of electronics... I love it. I wouldn't have it any other way, and I have you to thank." He smiled at Bucky, and realized how much he'd missed his old friend.

Bucky caught the ice pack, reflexively checking it for explosives before pressing it to his shoulder lightly. He stared blankly at Steve as he reminiscences, the hidden memories and the confused jumble of images and faces they trigger creating an agonizing feeling in his mind, as if he's reaching for something not quite there. He frowns back at Steve's nostalgic expression, and his voice is quiet and confused when he responds. "I-I'm… not… I don't…"

Steve's face fell. "I see." he said flatly. "You're still having trouble." He stared into space for a moment. Suddenly, he leapt from his chair and ran into his room. The sound of stuff shifting and Steve mumbling, "Where is it?" to himself echoed into the living room. When he returned, he had a large black book in his hands. He perched on the end of the couch and passed the book to Bucky. "It's a photo album." he explained. " Take a look."

Bucky took the album warily, cautiously, holding the book in his hands, steel and flesh, as if it were a bomb that might detonate at any second. He hesitantly lifted the cover, staring quietly at first picture, a grainy, black and white photograph of himself beaming at the camera, an arm around the shoulders of a much smaller Steve. He stared quietly at it, wondering if that boy was actually him, and racking his brain for any recollection of such a photo being taken. "It was your birthday." He said slowly, not sure why he suddenly knew this one fact, but he did. "July 4, '39?"

Steve chuckled. "That's right. We went to the pier, remember? Just you and I. We sat and watched the fireworks, and we talked." He glanced at Bucky, who was still staring at the picture as if it had never been taken. Steve wondered- just for a moment- if Bucky even remembered their past. He shook the thought away. No. Despite everything HYDRA did, Bucky had to remember. If he didn't... Steve wouldn't be able to cope. Bucky was his one lifeline to their past. He couldn't lose that.

Bucky frowned. "Maybe I should leave." He motioned to the photograph. "I'm not that person anymore. If you're looking for a nostalgic trip down memory lane, you should find someone else."

The grin slid of off Steve's face. "Buck, you can't say that. I know you're still the same person. Would you be here if you weren't?" Timidly, he took Bucky's hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "Please," he said softly. "Don't leave."

Bucky flinched, jerking away as Steve took his bionic hand, still bashed and dented from the fight. Even though he had no feeling in the cold steel, he hated anyone touching the part of his body that had been transformed into a weapon, that was no longer his own. "You don't understand!" He stubbornly got to his feet, steadying himself on the arm of the couch as he felt a sudden wave of dizziness from the blood loss. "I couldn't be the same person if I tried. You shouldn't wait for something that's gone.," he said angrily.

The world seemed to slow around Steve, and he felt as if he was falling. Here was Bucky, the only person he ever felt like he could trust, and HYDRA had erased that. He wished desperately that there were some way to remind Bucky how close they'd been. He felt a surge of anger towards HYDRA. How dare they take away what he held so dear? Something stirred in Steve's chest. "Buck, listen." He stood up. "I do understand. You're confused. I felt the same way when I was defrosted and..." He took Bucky's non-metal hand. "And this probably won't help at all." He leaned forward and kissed Bucky.

Bucky stood perfectly still, shocked into silence as Steve leaned in, gently planting a kiss on his lips. His eyes widened as he held Steve's hand in his. Steve's embrace reminded him of times long past, and a memory flooded him, of him hugging Steve at the World Fair, the last night before he had left for the army. After a few stunned seconds, he kissed Steve back, wrapping his other arm around him. They pulled away shortly, Bucky completely surprised as he gazed into Steve's eyes.

"Now, do you still think you're a different person?" Steve said softly. "Because to me, you're the same man that I met 70 years ago. But even if you're different, I'll still love you. Promise." His face flushed. "I'm sorry if I'm being a little sudden, but I can't just stand here and watch you doubt yourself. I care about you too much to let you suffer." Realizing they still held each other, he let go of Bucky.

"Steve, I- I don't even know what's going on in my head anymore. But I do know that you're the only person who's ever cared about me, and for your sake, I'll try my hardest to remember." He paused, having not spoken to anyone like this in forever, and feeling a lump rising in his throat. "I love you, Steve, and it's been to long." Stepping closer, and not letting himself hesitate, he gently grasped the front of Steve's shirt, closing his eyes, and returning the kiss.

Fin.

Tumblr: post/86776117471/if-youre-still-taking-stucky-prompts-could-i-get-one

Ao3: /works/1686284