"And this is the story that Kyle read to me that made me believe in little elves that stole things," you laughed as you pressed your finger to the page of your book. Steve and Sam looked over either of your shoulders to see the small pictures of elves making off with jewelry, trinkets and small treasures. Steve tugged the book's edge as a silent request to hold it and you handed it off to him. He laughed as he read the passage aloud, Sam listening intently.

The day had slipped away from the three of you after you'd opened the book. You spent most of the time reading the passages to the boys, explaining what each one meant to you. Kyle had read them to you one at a time as a child and would make up stories for each creature. You were fond of the little tales and wanted to explain each and every one of them to Sam and Steve.

Now that Steve was holding the book, you stood and let Sam scoot over so they could look at it together. You smiled as they read the book, Steve aloud with Sam following along. They looked like children and it warmed your heart.

"I'm gonna go hop in the shower, I'll come back down when I'm done," you announced and trekked up the stairs. You heard them make quick mumbling noises of affirmation and you giggled to yourself. That was definitely me as a kid, always lost in that book.

When you turned the corner in the hall, the first thing you noticed was Bucky's door wide open. You gave it a curious look, thinking, I didn't think Bucky was up here this early. He typically only went to his room at night if he planned to shut himself in or go to bed. You approached and slowly peeked your head in to see if he was there.

"Bucky?"

You watched his long hair fall around his face as he looked up at you. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, a blanket pulled up over his shoulders. He appeared to have a book in his lap, but his arms blocked your view. You cocked your head and stepped into the doorway, leaning on the frame and crossing your arms.

"You don't usually get into bed at 8. You also don't ever leave your door open. You okay?"

He gave you a small smile and lifted the book from his lap. You squinted and recognized the picture of a rabbit on the front.

"I thought you wanted me to read it to you," you giggled, letting your arms fall as you straightened yourself.

"Yeah," he started, seeming more shy than normal. "I thought you forgot."

You smiled and shook your head, letting a faint laugh escape. "No, silly. I was just waiting for you to tell me you were ready for bed." You moved to his bed and put your hands on the footboard, leaning over slightly.

"Oh..well..would you read it to me? I'm only on page two."

"Of course I will," you giggled.

You took the book as he handed it to you. He leaned back onto the pile of pillows behind him and pulled the bed comforter over himself. You waited patiently for him to get comfortable, dragging the chair from the vanity over to his bedside. He smiled up at you, signaling that he was ready and you grinned back, opening the book.

"Will you start over? At the beginning?" Bucky's eyes gleamed with what you could only pin as excitement.

You gave him an endearing smile and patted his shoulder. "Anything for you," you joked and flipped the pages back to the beginning.

"'There was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid.'"

"'...magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the skin horse understand all about it. 'What is real?' asked the rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. 'Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?''" You glanced to Bucky and his eyes rested on his hands. He was moving his fingers around slowly, his real ones tapping on his metal ones.

"''Real isn't how you are made,' said the skin horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, then you become real.''" You turned the page and Bucky's hand met your arm before you continued. He looked up at you and tilted your head, silently questioning him.

He opened his mouth a little, hesitated, and closed it again. He moved his hand and looked ahead again. You watched him for a moment before continuing.

"''Does it hurt?' asked the rabbit.

"''Sometimes,' said the skin horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are real you don't mind being hurt.'

"''Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?'

"''It doesn't happen all at once,' said the skin horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.''"

You glanced down and saw that Bucky looked to be deep in thought. You didn't realize how long you'd been staring until he looked up at you.

"Why did you stop?"

"Are you okay? You look like something is bothering you," you asked gently.

He shrugged. "I don't know yet."

"Do you want me to keep reading?"

He smiled and chuckled out, "yes." He put his hand on yours again and rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand. "I like the story so far."

You gave him a small, gentle smile and continued.

"'...while he was playing, two rabbits crept out from the bracken and peeped at him. One of them was brown all over, but the other had strange markings under his fur as though long ago he had been spotted, and the spots still showed through. And about his little soft nose and his round black eyes there was something familiar, so that the boy thought to himself, 'why, he looks just like my old bunny that was lost when I had scarlet fever!' But he never knew that it really was his own bunny, come back to look at the child who had first helped him to be real.'"

You closed the book gently, with a final "the end." Your mind briefly wandered to your childhood, reminding you of what it was like being snuggled up in bed as you were being read to.

Bucky had kept the same thoughtful expression all throughout the story, and he was now sitting up, leaning against the headboard, staring at his hands. You could tell by the far-off look in his eyes that we wasn't paying attention to his hands. You were doubting if he had even heard the end of the story until he turned his head and stared at you. He seemed to still be thinking, his eyes focused on yours.

"[Y/N]," he started, his expression telling you that he was trying to find the right words. You watched him patiently. "This is a dumb question," he continued, looking down now. "But...well, do you think it's stupid for me to feel like the rabbit?"

You cocked your head. "What do you mean?"

"I want to be real. I mean, I know I'm technically real, but I want to feel real."

You felt your face fall. Part of you felt broken-hearted that he felt that way, but another part of you could relate to what he was saying.

He leaned back and sighed. "Sometimes I feel like I'm not what I used to be. I know I'm not who I used to be. I want to remember who I was and go back. I don't want to be a recovering monster, I don't want to be a former asset, I don't want to be the Winter Soldier. I want to be James Buchanan Barnes."

"But you are," you argued.

"I'm not. I'm not the Winter Soldier and I'm not Bucky. I'm something in between, someone else."

You set the book down in the chair and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. You took his hands in yours and looked in his eyes as he lifted his head.

"I don't know if it means much, but to me you're Bucky. You're not someone else, you're not a soldier, you're not a monster. You're Bucky, you're my friend. I know it must be hard facing your past and living with it. But don't doubt who you are."

"I wish it was that easy," he sighed, looking down again. You opened your mouth to respond but he quietly pulled you into a hug before you could. "Thank you, [Y/N]. I know you're trying. I appreciate it."

You let out a small sigh and returned the hug, patting his back. "One day you'll feel real, I promise," you whispered. You felt his head nuzzle into your neck and his hair tickled you. You smiled to yourself and tightened your hug. I'll make sure you feel real, don't worry.