A/N: About the flashbacks. Chapter 6 was Steve's point of view, so he's probably remembering them. I don't think the Winter Soldier is remembering any of these (yet!), but maybe they are flashing through his head while they are wiping him (?). I like that idea, not sure it's feasible, but you are welcome to interpret them how you will :) In any case, the next chapters will be back to the present, so I hope you enjoy this last break from the impending angstiness.

7. You are mother nature's son, someone to whom I could relate

He was standing in his best suit, hands clasped in front of him, between his parents. Steve was in the row ahead, shoulders sloped in grief. He wished he could stand with him. Instead, family from out of town, who barely knew Steve, surrounded him. He glanced at his mother out of the corner of his eye. She was weeping. She had met Mrs. Rogers, of course, but hadn't known her all that well. He suspected she was thinking about the war, and how it might soon affect her own family as it had Steve's. He reached out and took her hand. She squeezed and flashed him a quick smile.

When the ceremony was over, he waited where he was as the other mourners filed out. "Find Steve. We can give him a ride," his mother whispered before going with his father to talk to their friends. He thought back to the many times Mrs. Rogers had been like a mother to him, too, and quickly looked at the ceiling to keep tears from falling. What would things be like without her?

She'd been sick for a while, and hadn't been able to work. Steve was working, but not enough. Bucky had brought them what food they could spare, and done what he could to help. His mother was working, too, and his father was around, so they were more fortunate than a lot of people. He'd watched his friend grow quieter and quieter, shrinking into himself. He'd been in more fights lately. It was getting harder to keep track of him and pull him out of them.

Realizing that he'd been lost in thought for a while, he refocused his attention on the front pew of the church. It was empty. Steve was gone. He fought an irrational panic, and turned on his heel to observe the remaining crowd. Steve was generally difficult to spot, so it took him a few minutes to decide he was no longer inside. He quickly left his seat and made his way out the front doors, pushing as politely as possible through the slow-moving group.

The sun was shining outside. It didn't seem right. It should rain at a funeral, he thought idly as he searched the congregation outside. No sign of Steve. He walked around the church, but he wasn't there. Giving up, he returned to his parents.


"Couldn't find Steve, huh?" his father asked as they drove.

"No."

"Well, why don't you head over to his place and try to bring him by for dinner. I'm sure the poor boy will be famished," his mother said.

"Okay."

"Buck." He looked up, meeting her eyes. "He can come to stay with us. I hate thinking about him all alone in that apartment."

"I'll ask," he promised. She smiled, and turned back to face the front of the car. He went back to staring at his hands.


Knocking on Steve's door gave no response. He waited, peering in the window by the door. There wasn't any movement inside. He sighed. Where could he be? He tried to imagine what he would do in the same situation. He probably wouldn't want to talk to anyone, either, so maybe Steve was inside and just ignoring him. He turned around and leaned against the railing, looking across the courtyard. There were some children playing some kind of game with a few stones. It was otherwise empty.

He walked slowly down the stairs, kicking his heels. He paused at the bottom, running his fingers through his hair. It was getting long. He'd need to cut it soon. Money for a barber was difficult, though. He had just rounded the corner when he heard a voice behind him. He didn't catch the words, but it was definitely Steve, talking to someone. Maybe the kids. He turned on his heel and watched his friend walking up to his apartment, shoulders squared, hands thrust into his pockets.

"We looked for you after. My folks wanted to give you a ride to the cemetery," Bucky said as he caught up with his friend.

"Sorry. I just wanted to be alone," Steve replied, barely glancing at him.

"How was it?" he asked, unsure how to ask what he wanted to know.

"It was okay. She's back with Dad."

He looked at his friend, so small and alone, and cleared his throat. "I was going to ask," he began.

"I know what you're going to say, Buck, it's just…" Steve trailed off, turning to his door.

"We can put the couch cushions on the floor, like when we were kids. It'll be fun," he assured his friend. "All you got to do is maybe shine my shoes, take out the trash," he added. Steve wouldn't accept charity. He watched as Steve felt his pockets for a key, and smiled sadly. He bent and kicked the brick aside that hid the spare, and handed it to his friend. "Come on."

"Thank you, Buck, but I can get by on my own," Steve replied, determination in his voice as he unlocked the door.

"Thing is, you don't have to," Bucky said, putting his hand on Steve's shoulder to stop his fidgeting. Steve turned to look at him. "I'm with you to the end of the line, pal," he said sincerely. Steve smiled at him resignedly. "At least come to dinner," he added more lightly.

"I guess I am pretty hungry. Do I have to start shining your shoes now?" he asked, some humor returning to his voice.

Bucky laughed. "Let's wait until we get home first."

Steve locked his door again, and they walked down the stairs together.


"I'm so sorry for your loss, Steve," Mrs. Barnes said, taking his hand and squeezing it. "I know this will be hard for you. But you can always count on us to help you out."

"Thank you, ma'am," Steve replied with a smile. "What can I help you with?"

"Why don't you boys tidy up the living room while I make dinner?"

"Mom, we're hardly boys anymore," Bucky grumbled.

"You'll always be my two boys," she replied, winking at Steve, "even when you're in your nineties. Now, stop sulking over there and help Steve," she added.

He stood up from where he had been leaning against the wall and joined Steve in the living room. "It seems pretty tidy to me," he said dubiously, looking around.

"Yeah, but try looking at it like your mom would," Steve suggested, but looked just as uncertain as Bucky.

"I'm trying…"


"Boys, dinner's ready. Go fetch your father, Buck," Mrs. Barnes said as she walked into the living room. She started laughing. "Men indeed," she snorted, still smiling.

"It's a fort, Mom. Men build forts," Bucky said, defending their project with the couch cushions. Steve was too busy laughing to agree.

"Well, put those back where they go and wash up."

Bucky smiled at his still-laughing friend as Mrs. Barnes went back to the kitchen. It was great to be able to cheer him up, especially today.