Hey guys! Sorry for the wait, I was travelling and had very awful/nonexistent internet. It's a bit longer than usual to make up for that. Thank you so much for all the support so far (you guys are the absolute best), as well as for my wonderful beta, Phyoaros, for putting up with me! :)

Disclaimer: characters belong to Marvel. Chapter title belongs to Fall Out Boy's "Alone Together".

Without further ado, enjoy! :)

Chapter Seven: Road to Ruin (One More Troubled Soul)

It wasn't until a week later that Steve saw Bucky again.

His apartment was still and painfully silent, a constant reminder of what Steve had managed to lose yet again. There was a hole in his chest, a gaping pit, and nothing to make it go away. When Natasha called him with a mission, he leapt at the chance to escape the suffocating emptiness of his home. Maybe he would finally accept Tony's offer and move into Avengers Tower. At least there, he wouldn't be alone, though he knew from experience that just because he was surrounded by other people didn't mean that he no longer fell victim to the stabbing loneliness that hadn't left him since SHIELD brought him out of the ice.

He threw himself into battle with a ferocity and disregard to his own safety that he knew worried Natasha and Sam, but his mind was full of Bucky. The last time he'd felt loss so clearly, he'd crashed a plane into the ocean and prayed for death. It seemed to be a trend with him; someone close to him was torn away and he lost all sense of self-preservation. After his mother's funeral, Bucky had dragged Steve to the hospital for his broken arm, collapsed lung, and fractured jaw after Steve purposely provoked four different people, all while Bucky was at work. He knew his tendencies were dangerous and reckless and self-destructive in a way that was a sign for something further, but the adrenaline and injuries and bone-deep exhaustion dragged his mind away from his suffering like nothing else. By the end of the battle, no one was surprised to find him with two broken ribs, a severely-fractured jaw, two gunshot wounds, and a concussion. The supersoldier serum made him heal faster, and harder to hurt, but it didn't make him invincible. He still had to sit through the agony of a bullet being pulled out of his leg. Still, he had gotten the job done, and that was all that mattered.

(And if the immense pain had made him forget all about a certain soldier who had collapsed on his couch only a few days back, then that was simply an added bonus.)

So when Steve stumbled down the hall, extensive injuries already treated to and healing, and had the burning desire to collapse into bed and not get up until the next mission, he was smacked in the face with such a strong sense of deja vu that he couldn't help but hope. He slowly unlocked his door, and ever so slowly pushed it open, until he got a clear view of an unmistakably empty couch. His heart sank and his healing ribs gave a particularly painful twinge. He knew it was naive to expect anything else, but Bucky had been there only a week ago and that had to meansomething, dammit, because somethingwas better than nothing and he couldn't cope with nothingness, couldn't fix something that wasn't even there, and-

Bucky was standing in his kitchen.

Bucky was standing in hiskitchen.

He had one of Steve's kitchen knives in his right hand, but Steve was too in shock to feel any sort of concern over it. He was hallucinating-he had to be. What other explanation was there? He was too busy standing there, frozen, to stop the door from slamming behind him, and the loud noise broke the spell. For a second he was worried the sudden sound would send Bucky fleeing yet again, but all he did was cautiously place the knife on the countertop and stare at Steve's chin like it was his most interesting feature. Steve could see how tense he was even from where he was standing, could see him preparing to either run or pick the knife back up and drive it into Captain America's neck, and yes he had put it back down, but the Winter Soldier had shot him multiple times, so he figured he was justified in his concerns.

"I- I- you were on a mission, and -" Bucky's stammering was painful to listen to, especially how his voice wavered and cracked, barely louder than a whisper like he'd been caught doing something horribly wrong. (Technically, he had, Steve reasoned; breaking and entering was very illegal, but he couldn't care less.)

"Bucky," Steve breathed, because his brain still wasn't fully caught up and it felt like he was dreaming, like as soon as he fully registered what was going on, it would all vanish and he'd jolt awake in a cold sweat. Bucky twitched at the name, and Steve could finally see how bad his entire right arm was shaking, but there were no signs of hostility.

"Steve," Bucky said. His voice was hoarse and hesitant, like he was tasting the word on his lips, and it was the best thing Steve had heard since he'd come out of the ice. He watched as Bucky's hand travelled back to the knife, but stopped before he reached it, grabbing the countertop edge instead like the floor was going to drop out from underneath them. Steve was almost sure it already had,with the odd, swooping sensation in his stomach.

"Do you… Do you remember me?" Steve had a hard time keeping the swell of hope out of his voice, and he knew he'd failed before the sentence was even over. Bucky tilted his head and relaxed his grip on the counter, leaving behind a large indent, and mouthed something that Steve couldn't decipher. He nodded jerkily before reaching into a large pocket in his coat and Steve's hand twitched in the direction of his shield, not sure what Bucky was going to pull out, but relaxed when he saw it was only papers. They had blood splotches on them, vividly red and sharp in contrast to the scrawl covering the sheets. Bucky held them out and Steve took it as a peace offering of sorts, taking a few careful steps toward him so he could accept the papers. Their fingers brushed and Bucky jumped backwards, hitting the stove with a muttered curse.

Steve scanned the papers, struggling to read the messy writing. The words and phrases were disjointed, chaotic, but as he made his way through each page, he understood what exactly it was he was reading.

Bucky's memories.

There were huge gaps- that much was evident from the sheer lack of writing, and many scribbled fragments were followed by question marks, but it was more than Steve could've ever hoped for. Bucky was still there, buried under decades of Hydra's programming. He had a chance. They both did.

"You know," Steve began softly. "My couch is always empty. And there's usually food in the fridge." Bucky stared. "If you ever need a safe place to stay, that is." Steve cleared his throat, suddenly unsure. He knew he'd have to take this slow if he wanted a chance of getting Bucky back, and one false move could easily scare him off forever. But he wanted this. He wanted Bucky.

Ever so slowly, Bucky nodded.

That night was the first time he truly noticed how lorn his bed was.

(The next morning, Steve woke up to an empty apartment and a strange, fluttering sensation in his stomach.

For the first time in a long while, Steve felt hopeful.)

It became a regular occurrence- Bucky would stumble in through Steve's unlocked window at all hours of the night, with varying levels of injury and drunkenness. It was never anything severe- cuts and bruises, mostly- but he still watched Bucky's trip from the window to the couch and checked him for injuries he may have hidden. If Bucky was still asleep when Steve woke up, he would make enough breakfast for two super soldiers instead of just one, and Bucky would awake to the smell of food. If Steve didn't have somewhere he needed to be, they would eat together, Steve filling the silence with meaningless chatter. Bucky insisted on washing both their plates, and as soon as they were both clean, he would leave once more. Each time Steve watched him climb out the window and disappear, he would resume his worrying, hoping, praying, that Bucky would return to him safely. It felt like he was repeating watching Bucky go off to war over and over, each time leaving him behind. Then, a night or two or three later, Bucky would return and the cycle would begin again.

It was almost a month after Bucky had first passed out on Steve's couch when he was woken by a frantic call from Clint, saying he was needed at the tower ASAP. There was an urgent mission in Europe they were needed for. Steve quickly grabbed his go-bag and was about to leave when he remembered Bucky. What would he think if Steve just vanished? Clint hadn't said how long it would take, so he doubled back and wrote Bucky a quick note, explaining the situation and urging him to keep using Steve's apartment as a safehouse.

When everyone gathered at the Avengers Tower, Tony ushered them all into his private jet (and wasn't that a luxury compared to Steve's cheap, one-bedroom apartment. It was pitiful, how a superhero's home was worse-off than a plane) before delivering the mission. AIM and HYDRA had decided to wreak havoc all over England, and it was unknown if they were working with or against each other. The British military had called them in for assistance. The jet took off and Steve claimed a seat in the back, surprised when Natasha followed and perched on the seat directly across from him. She folded her hands on the table and waited for everyone to settle into their usual preparation to address him.

"Something's changed," she guessed quietly. "You've been dedicating all of your time and energy to finding the Winter Soldier for months. You called me a dozen times a week to see if my contacts had any leads. Now, you haven't called- or returned my calls- for three weeks, and you've stopped looking altogether."

Steve froze, growing steadily more anxious as Natasha spoke. He desperately searched for some sort of excuse that she would accept. It wasn't that he didn't trust Nat- he trusted her with his life- but no one could know that he was harboring a Russian assassin and known international fugitive. If word got out, they'd both be arrested, and Bucky would be tried for the crimes HYDRA had forced him to commit. Steve would be tried too, for consorting with and aiding a man who was practically on terrorist alert. Captain America's reputation would be ruined. Not that Steve cared about what it would do to his image- Bucky's safety came first. Always had, always would. No matter the cost.

"It's just, we've been searching for so long with no leads," he improvised. "If he wants to be found, he'll-"

"Or maybe he's in New York," she interrupted, glancing around at the team to make sure no one was in hearing range as Steve's heart crawled up his throat. "And you've seen him. Cut the bullshit, Rogers. You're a horrible liar."

"What reason would he have to come here?"

"You." There was a moment of silence where Steve struggled to find a response and Natasha grinned smugly. "Don't try denying it, Cap. I already know. I've been keeping tabs on him ever since we had a drink together."

Steve made a strangled sound and spent the next few minutes coughing and spluttering in shock, waving off concerned looks from the other Avengers. "Why didn't you-"

"I promised," was her reply. "He wanted to see you, that much was obvious, but he's scared that you don't want to see him. He's done bad things. Lots of them. Things he's not proud of. He's not the man you grew up with."

"I don't care," Steve hissed. "It isn't his fault. I want to help him, but if he doesn't even want to talk to me, how can I?" At Natasha's raised eyebrow, he added, "He's been crashing on my couch."

Natasha didn't even flinch, remaining a completely neutral expression. "Aiding a known fugitive," she said, but Steve couldn't detect any hint of accusation, only something resembling pride. "Be patient. He'll come around. Just wait."

Thanks for reading, and I hope the rest of your day is lovely! Please leave a review, they really do make my day. :)