Author's note: This chapter contains some feels.

"What are you doing?"

Steve halts in the process of dragging himself up the stairs. Bucky's standing at the top, arms crossed, looking sleepy and a little annoyed. He's not allowed to go out into the field yet, but he's been showing promise of getting there soon. Steve had been hoping Bucky wouldn't hear him come in.

"Broke my foot on the mission." Steve shrugs in an awkward attempt at nonchalance, arms braced where he's just hoisted himself onto the second step of a dozen or two. He's still wearing his uniform, though it's torn in a few places and there's a definite singe mark on one shoulder. "It's already set and everything." He adds, gesturing to the splinted foot, "Should be fine in a couple'a days."

Bucky snorts at this, but says nothing. He's irritated that Steve's hurt himself again and as usual is acting like it's no big deal. Like Bucky should pretend it's nothing too.

Stubborn little twit.

...Stubborn BIG twit he reminds himself regretfully.

As Steve starts to heave himself up another step, he bangs his toe into the railing and swears, collapsing a bit against the wall. Bucky rolls his eyes. Enough is enough. He starts down the stairs to meet him.
"Not if you keep smacking it into stuff, it won't be. Would it kill ya to just ask for help now and then?" He holds out a hand for Steve to grasp, but it's ignored.
"Don't need it." Steve grunts, carefully rebalancing himself. "And I didn't wanna wake you up."

"Jeesus…" Bucky mutters. "You're just as stubborn as you ever were." He rolls his eyes as he ducks down to throw a shoulder under Steve's ribs and hoist him unceremoniously up onto his back. He turns, carefully tucking Steve's indignantly flailing legs under the metal arm, and starts back up the stairs with a super-soldier draped across his shoulders. "And I wasn't asleep. Like I was gonna go to bed while you're still out getting shot at and blown up, ya little twerp? I've been watching The Voice reruns for like 4 hours."

It's slow going with 250 pounds of uncooperative Steve draped over his back, but Bucky's hauled Steve up many a flight of stairs before, in another life. He's not about to admit that it's gotten a lot harder since Steve grew a foot and gained 100 pounds, even if Bucky's been enhanced too. He just sweats a bit and keeps going.

Steve has given up on flailing and settled instead for propping his elbows against Bucky's shoulder, the better to level an annoyed glare in his friend's direction.
"You didn't have to wait up for me - shouldn't- have waited up for me." He grumbles. "I'd have made it up fine on my own."
He's sulking - the old Steve coming through as he hasn't in years. It's amazing what being an invalid again does to Steve's usually even temper.

"Sure, right." Bucky tosses a sidelong glance at him. "And, what, I'd just sleep through you bangin' up the stairs like a clydesdale?"
Steve looks away and doesn't answer.
"You'd just have hurt yourself worse, you know." Bucky says, shifting Steve a bit higher over his right shoulder to get a better grip. "Hopping up a flight of stairs on one foot."
"I was fine-"
"No you were not." Bucky interrupts, pausing in mid-step. He cranes his head, trying to meet Steve's averted eyes.
"What is it with you not wanting to let me help you anymore? I might not remember everything, but I remember how we used to be. We used to be brothers, Steve. Even after you were Captain America, I always had your back. Why don't you want me there anymore?"

Steve still won't look at him. He's quiet and a lot of the fight has drained out of him. They stand in the dark stairwell for an expectant moment before Bucky let's out a soft, disappointed breath and starts up towards the apartment again.

Steve finally speaks as they're nearing the landing.
"It's not that I don't want your help, Buck…" His voice is so quiet that Bucky almost doesn't hear him. It's practically a whisper. "I just... don't wanna lean on you, when you've got your own problems. A busted foot will heal in a week. What you're dealing with-"

"Oh shut up." Bucky cuts in fiercely. He pauses as they clear the top step, slinging Steve carefully down from his back. As irritated as he is, he's careful of the injured foot.
They stand there in the dimly lit hallway, one flickering fluorescent bulb humming into the silence. Bucky is holding on perhaps a bit too tightly to his friend's wrist. This has been brewing for weeks and they need to settle it. Now. Tonight.

"Look, Steve-" Bucky sighs, dropping his eyes to the metal fist curled against his hip. "I've been broken for a while. I know that. ...HYDRA did a number on me. But I'm not that hair-trigger mess anymore." He raises his face to find Steve watching him with an unreadable expression. There's a tension in the air, like he wants to do something, but he doesn't know how.
"Whatever mush they made outta my head is turning back into brains and I'm as much me as I'm ever gonna be." The metal fingers curl and uncurl against his side in a steady rhythm.
For a moment, it's like they're scrappy underfed teenagers again, standing in a familiar dirty alley in Brooklyn. Steve's small and bruised and limping. Bucky's trying to get it through Steve's thick stubborn skull that he can let somebody in. Let somebody help him now and then.
...But this isn't Brooklyn. Their Brooklyn no longer exists. They'll never be those people again. He's learning that more and more every day. They have to build from the ashes. He wishes Steve would see that too.

"Yeah, I was a mess when I first got here." He's aware this may be one hell of an understatement, but that's beside the point. "I know I was. I know how many times I sent you flying over a bad dream and I still hate myself for it sometimes…" Curl, uncurl, curl, uncurl.
Uncurl.
"But I'm a lot better now, and I want to help you like I used to, if you'd just -let- me!" The last bit comes out something like a growl and he realizes that he's lurched into Steve's personal space as he says it. He's so frustrated, has wanted to get this out for so long. He can be Steve's big brother again, he knows he can, even if Steve still towers over him. If Steve would just let him in…

The next thing he knows, he's face first in Steve's shoulder and powerful arms are half crushing him in a massive bear-hug.
"You know there's nobody in this world I'd rather have on my side than you, Buck." Steve mutters into his hair. "I'm crap at this. I'm sorry." He sags just a little into Bucky. " I don't mean to treat you like you're gonna shatter, I just don't know what else to do."
"Trust me." Bucky says simply, and he can feel the ragged breath Steve lets out through his whole body.
"I do trust you." Steve says, backing up awkwardly on one foot, and bracing his hands on Bucky's shoulders. Steve's never distinguished between the left and right, flesh and metal. He doesn't start now. "I will always trust you." His eyes look suspiciously shiny, but Bucky wisely decides not to comment. He's not so sure his own are any drier." I'll try to be better about proving it. … But I kind of suck at this." Steve adds lamely, with a sheepish half-smile.
"Start by not being so damned stubborn and we'll go from there." Bucky offers, with a weak smile of his own.
"Tell you what, you promise never to tell any of the others that you carried me up the stairs like some cheesy movie princess, and I'll do my best."
He puts his arm out and Bucky pulls it over his shoulder, letting Steve lean his weight against him.
"Conditions, conditions." Bucky grumbles lightly, slowly helping him to the door.