Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot of this story.

A/N I posted this years ago on so I decided to repost it and make a few improvements whilst still holding true to the old version.

Return

A year had passed since Hydra had been exposed and S.H.I.E.L.D destroyed. A year since Steve had discovered that Bucky was alive. He had been searching for him ever since. More than once had he be certain that he had seen a shimmer of metal in a darkened alleyway, or familiar brown eyes on a passing face. Every time a spark of hope would reignite in his heart, only to die when it turned out to be nothing but his own mind playing tricks.

Sam had told him that old proverb once after another failed attempt at locating Bucky. The one about how if you let something go and it comes back to you, it's yours. Basically, Sam was warning him not to push so hard that Bucky decided he wasn't worth trusting.

So, he stopped pushing and started waiting. Not giving up, but not obsessing.

But sometimes he could help but look.

That's what he was doing now. Looking. He had seen Bucky's file plenty of times, but there was always a chance he had missed something. Some clue or lead that would set the wheels in motion. He hadn't found it yet. The photo of Bucky in cryo always caused him to pause. He hated to imagine what it was like to be frozen in a box when you no longer had any purpose, only to be pulled back out decades later when some bastard had a score to settle. Steve had been frozen in time only once, and he was still trying to come to terms with it. He couldn't imagine having to do it over and over again. The thought of Bucky having to do so made him feel sick to his stomach.

The file had everything. Information about the Winter Soldier and his targets. Stories and intel on Bucky before all that. And what it took to turn Bucky into their own personal assassin. His friend had fought for almost thirty years before Hydra's efforts finally became 'fixed'. Apparently, he kept remembering, especially if a mission somehow became linked to 'The Captain.' A stray flyer or photo, a name or face. Sometimes just the colours red, white and blue. They had come with something after that. Some sort of insurance that would ensure they always had a way to control 'the asset' There wasn't anything more on it. Still, they hadn't sent him on a mission that might lead to compromisation until a year ago.

Sighing, he closed the file and placed it behind the couch cushions, laying back onto them. He would get his friend back. He knew he would.

Rain.

It was raining. He hadn't noticed until now, but he wasn't surprised that he hadn't. Rain had always been a comforting sound to him, and often fell into the back of his mind to ease away any anxiety. Bucky had never liked it though, complaining that it disturbed the peace and made him cold. He could remember countless times that Bucky had gotten caught in the rain somewhere, and instead of going home had turned up at his place with various excuses. Things like " I'm drowning out here," or simply "I don't like the rain." He had always relented, and he now held those memories close to his heart.

Memories that Bucky no longer had.

But Steve was damn well sure he was going to help him remember.

"Bucky, please come home…" he whispered, letting himself drift off to the sound of falling rain.

Sometimes I think you like getting punched.

I had him on the ropes.

Where are we going?

The future.

Steve lurched out of his sleep, sitting upright on the couch. Something had woken him. A noise?

A knocking sound suddenly filled his ears, coming from the front door. Presumably, it wasn't the first time.

Now alert and wide awake, he rose from the couch, itching to grab his shield. Who the hell-

The knocking began again, loud and more urgent.

He headed for his shield, just in case. "Give me a sec, I'm coming," he called, approaching the door from the side. It could just be Sam, but it also might not be. There were still many heads of Hydra that had gone underground. Though, he couldn't ignore the thought in the back of mind that came more from his heart. What if... It was only wishful thinking. He needed to be on guard.

He held his shield in front of his body, opening the door in one swift movement, preparing for an attack.

None came.

Lowering his shield, he let his eyes fall on the figure outside the door.

A shimmer of metal.

A pair of brown eyes.

"Bucky..." he whispered, not quite believing it.

His friend avoided his gaze, pulling at his left sleeve so it covered more of his metal arm. "I don't like the rain," he mumbled.

It had to be a dream. He was asleep on the couch somewhere and this was just his own head. He would wake up and all this would disappear.

But he had never seen Bucky look so exhausted.

He put his fears aside, trying not to let the tears in his eyes fall. "You never did," he said, voice almost breaking, "let's get you inside." He stepped aside and turned on the lights, offering up his home.

Bucky stared into his apartment, hesitating. Steve could see him shivering under the rain. It was lighter now, but Bucky had obviously gotten the worst of it, his clothes drenched.

"Its a lot warmer in there, and you can leave whenever you want," he said, offering a small smile. He didn't want to push Bucky away or make him feel trapped, but he also looked so damn cold.

He wanted to trust Steve. Everything inside him seemed to be screaming that he could, but his mind was telling him it was a trap; that if he stepped through that door he would never come out. He hadn't trusted anyone in a long time, and until recently he thought he had never trusted before. Yet, here he stood, wanting to trust to the man that he apparently already had been since childhood.

He knew Steve and he had been friends. The Smithsonian had shown him that.

And now so had his memories. They were only snippets, faded and jumpy. But they were coming back together, and they were his. Steve was in almost every one of them.

He could trust Steve. He could also sense how desperately Steve was trying to show that. Confirming his memories, stepping aside and turning on lights. Letting him know that he could come and go as he pleased even though he knew that Steve wished for him to stay. Hell, he had even removed and dropped the shield.

So, he let himself step into Steve's apartment.

Steve closed and locked the door, and Bucky couldn't help the twinge of anxiety that followed the sound of the lock clicking. He fought it down. Steve wasn't trying to trap him, he was keeping others from coming in, not leaving. Besides, he could unlock the door if he wanted to. But he supposed old habits die hard. He needed to focus on something else. Anything else.

Steve. He should focus on Steve.

"Why...?" he asked, not sure what else to say.

Steve gave him a funny look. "Why what?"

He met Steve's eyes, "why are you helping me?"

Steve smiled. A sad, broken smile. "Cause I'm with you until the end of the line."

Bucky had heard Steve say that before, that day on the craft. The day he had almost killed Steve. "I shot you," he reminded.

Steve said nothing for a momment, simply looking at him with those sad blue eyes. Seeming to decide something, Steve moved close enough to guide him to the couch. Bucky let him. Once he was settled, Steve sat down beside him. "Bucky, I want you to know I don't blame you for that. For any of it."

He frowned, confused. How could he not? He had done so much. Killed so many. He remembered that more clearly than any fragment of a broken memory. "But I did it," he argued. "I might just have been there little puppet, but I did all of it and I understood what I was doing. I'm not your Bucky, Steve. I'm not him any more ...I don't remember him. Not really."

"I know you're not, Buck. I wouldn't expect you to be," Steve said softly.

He clenched his jaw, overwhelmed. "What if I never remember who I was. What then, Steve?"

Steve smiled that gentle smile, "like I said, I'm with you until the end of the line."

I'm with you until the end of the line, pall.

Bucky frowned. Had he said that? It sounded like himself. He ...remembered. Suddenly, he sat up straight, meeting Steve's eye again. "I said that to you once, didn't I? After your mum's funeral?"

"Yeah, you did," Steve smiled, "and if you can remember that I don't think there's any reason you won't be able to remember everything else." Steve put a hand on his shoulder. "You're my best friend Buck, even if you can't remember, or you've changed. Just know that wherever you go from here, I promise I've got your back."

Steve was surprised that Bucky didn't move away when he placed his hand on his shoulder. He had expected him too, but he didn't. He was even more surprised when after his promise, Bucky moved forward and burrowed his head into his shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around him. "Bucky..." he whispered, unsure.

Bucky's chest began to heave, his breath shallow, and soon Steve felt tears soak into his shirt. His heart breaking a little, Steve returned the embrace, running his hand in circles on Bucky's back. "It's okay, I've got you now," he whispered, "I've got you."

After what seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes, Bucky relaxed against him, loosening his grip on his shirt. Gently, Steve laid him down on the couch.

"You're a punk…" Bucky mumbled, almost asleep.

Steve smiled down him. "Jerk."

"How did you know where to find my apartment?" Steve asked curiously, pulling a blanket over his shoulders.

"It wasn't hard to figure out…" Bucky answered, eyes finally closing.

And even if Bucky was gone by the time morning came, Steve would happily admit that he had for once slept soundly