A/N: So, this was totally going to be a nice Christmas chapter, but the muse wasn't feeling it. She wanted to do this instead. But, you know, it's kind of like a Christmas chapter, because this is the chapter where Bucky comes home, and if that's not the perfect gift for Steve, then I don't know what is.

The title comes from the song 'Brother' by Needtobreathe, which is just perfect for these two. I'm toying with the idea of doing a companion chapter to this one that's the same thing but from Bucky's POV. Let me know if that's something y'all would be interested in reading.

Thanks for all your kind words and support so far on this story. You guys are the best! Merry Christmas, everybody.

Steve sighed as he stepped off the bus, sliding his phone into his jacket pocket. Coulson had been looking into a reported Winter Soldier sighting in Romania for him, but it had just been confirmed as a dead end. It had been almost six months since he'd found out Bucky was still alive, and despite the combined resources of the Avengers and what remained of S.H.I.E.L.D., the search thus far had turned up exactly nothing. Nat was right. He really was a ghost.

Steve knew that Bucky was messed up. Even if he hadn't read the file Nat had gotten for him—which was disturbing and at the same time lacking in specifics—their two encounters had made it abundantly clear that Hydra had done something to his head. But equally clear was Steve's last memory before falling into the Potomac. He remembered Bucky's metal fist hesitating, dropping back. He remembered that look of fear and confusion as memory flashed across Bucky's face and he recognized Steve—not as his mission, but as Steve Rogers, his friend. He remembered a metal hand reaching through the water, pulling him back up from the muddy depths. Bucky was messed up, but Bucky was in there. Steve had been hoping he'd come back on his own. He hated to think of him out there, confused and alone and with God only knew what going on in his head.

He shivered and pulled his jacket a little tighter around himself. The fall air had a sharp bite to it, and Steve was looking forward to getting up to his nice warm apartment. Maybe a hot cup of coffee and some of that soup Sam made last night.

The wind died down as he rounded the corner, but even in the quieter air, without his super senses he would have missed the soft clink of glass on concrete as something moved behind the dumpster. He paused. "Hello?" he called. Was someone back there? Could just be an alley cat, but if it was someone homeless, nights were cold enough already. He was already thinking about where the nearest soup kitchen was and trying to remember if he'd grabbed the spare set of Sam's car keys as he stepped off the sidewalk towards the dumpster. For a moment, nothing, then the shadows moved and the outline of a ragged coat and ball cap emerged from behind the dumpster and Steve forgot how to breathe.

"Bucky?!"

Standing in front of him was James Buchanan Barnes, skinnier, scruffier and dirtier than last time he'd seen him, looking pale and scared, but completely, really, actually, physically right there.

"Hi, Steve," he said quietly, and Steve's heart soared and a relieved smile split his face because Bucky was alive and right there and he remembered him.

"Hey, Buck," he replied. He stepped forward and Bucky scooted back several steps, one hand raised as if to ward him off. Steve stopped. "Right. No sudden moves." He had no idea what Bucky had been through these last six months, but he supposed it wasn't unexpected that he'd be jittery. "Sorry."

Bucky looked a little surprised that Steve had apologized, but he nodded and lowered his hand.

"Do you remember me?" Steve asked.

Bucky swallowed and nodded. "Some. Enough to know that you…I know who you are."

He sounded like there'd been more he'd wanted to say, but Steve would take that for now. Steve suddenly wasn't sure where to go with this. For months, all he'd wanted was to find Bucky, but now that he had, he had no idea what to do next. Bucky said he remembered him, but he was still obviously uneasy, so Steve smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "I've been looking for you. You're a hard man to find."

A tiny, humorless smile quirked up one side of Bucky's mouth. "I'm supposed to be."

Steve nodded. "Where have you been?"

"Around," Bucky said evasively. "Mostly here."

"Here?" Steve asked, surprised. "By the dumpster behind my apartment?" Had he really been this close all this time?

"Here in New York," Bucky clarified. "It said in the museum that I used to live here, so I came to look around. And I knew you were here, so…" He shrugged. "I moved around a lot, though. Stayed out of the way."

After months of searching, it made Steve a little sick that Bucky had been practically in his backyard this whole time, but he also knew that if Bucky didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be, and something clicked in his head. "You wanted me to hear you just now, didn't you?" Bucky said nothing but inclined his head a little, and Steve knew he was right. "Were you…Were you waiting for me?" he asked, suddenly feeling hopeful. Maybe Bucky was ready to come home.

Bucky did that little head thing again. He drew in a deep breath, clearly drawing in the courage for whatever he was going to say next. "I need to ask you something."

"Okay," Steve said. Bucky didn't say anything for a minute, looking like he wasn't sure where he was going. It occurred to Steve to wonder how long it had been since Bucky had a conversation with someone. He hadn't talked this much in April, and from what Steve had read about what Hydra used him for, he wouldn't have had much need to talk to them. No wonder he was having trouble getting words out.

"You said…" Bucky said at last. "You said you—you said you were my friend." He swallowed hard, and Steve's heart broke at the fear swimming in his steel blue eyes. "Did you mean that?" he asked softly.

"Yes," Steve said without hesitating. "Yes, I did."

Bucky didn't look as relieved at that as Steve would have hoped, but he nodded, looking down at his feet and absorbing Steve's answer. "Even after…" He looked back up. "Do you still mean it?"

"Absolutely." Steve smiled encouragingly. "To the end of the line."

Bucky stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if he believed him, then he nodded.

"That's why I've been looking for you," Steve added, when Bucky didn't seem sure what to say.

Bucky's eyebrows drew together warily. "Not because…" He caught himself and stopped talking, looking away.

"Not because of what?" Steve wondered.

"Because of what I did," Bucky replied quickly, then grimaced. It was painfully obvious that he hadn't wanted to answer the question, but he hadn't been able to stop himself. A nauseous little twist in Steve's gut wondered what happened to Bucky when Hydra asked him questions and he didn't answer. Bucky sighed. "Back in April," he finished.

Steve thought for a moment. Bucky had done a lot back in April, but he was probably referring to the last part. "You mean on the helicarrier?" Bucky nodded. "I…" Steve trailed off as he realized what Bucky meant, and his face fell. "Buck, I haven't been hunting you down to get back at you for that."

Bucky looked up at him, skeptical, but a little bit hopeful. "Really?"

"Really," Steve insisted. Bucky clearly hadn't expected that answer and he looked down, chewing on his bottom lip. "What did you really want to ask me?" he asked. They'd gotten sidetracked from whatever Bucky's earlier question had been building up to. The fact that Bucky was here at all was a good sign, and Steve hoped it was leading to him deciding to stay.

Bucky nodded, confirming that there had been more to the question, and drew in a deep breath, pulling together whatever he was going to say next. "If you're not mad," he began slowly, looking at Steve like he was waiting for him to contradict the statement. "Would you…" He swallowed hard and looked at the sky, as if the words he wanted were up there somewhere. He looked back at Steve. "You said you were my friend, and I…I think I need that. I need…There's a lot I don't remember, but I remember you, and I think you could help me find it. I remember we…" One more deep sigh. "Will you help me?"

Warmth surged through Steve's chest. "Of course, Bucky. Of course, I will." He stepped forward, and this time, Bucky let him, though he stopped a few feet away and did not touch him. "That's all I've been wanting to do."

Bucky looked surprised at that. "You wanted to help me?"

"More than anything."

"Even though I tried to kill you?" he asked uncertainly. Steve nodded. Bucky didn't look like he knew what to do with that. "Thank you," he said at last, like he wasn't quite sure if that was right.

"You're welcome," Steve replied. Slowly, so that Bucky could see it, he extended a hand and rested it on his shoulder. "You want to come inside? It's awfully cold out here."

Bucky inhaled deeply, steeling himself, then nodded slowly. "Okay."

Steve moved and Bucky followed, a couple of steps behind and to the side. He'd been working towards this moment since April, and now it was happening, and it wasn't how he'd pictured it at all. He ached to grab Bucky, to hug him and welcome him home and laugh and celebrate that they'd found each other again. But Bucky had the tense, nervous look of a cornered animal, and Steve swallowed down his enthusiasm and his expectations—this wasn't going how he'd hoped, but it was still happening, and if he did something to scare Bucky away, he might never find him again. He needed to be calm and reassuring—Bucky needed to feel safe. Steve could do that. They could figure the rest out later.

Upstairs, Bucky followed Steve hesitantly into the apartment, like he wasn't sure he was supposed to be there. "Is everything okay?" Steve asked.

"No, I—I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

Bucky nodded.

"Okay. If there's something wrong, though, you can let me know, alright? Or, if you have questions or anything," he added. He didn't think Bucky got to ask questions very much.

Bucky nodded again.

"Okay," Steve said. "So, uh, let me show you around. This right here is the kitchen. Anything in the fridge, you're welcome to, unless it has Sam's name on it. He's kind of possessive of his leftovers." He smiled, but didn't get one in return. "Living room over here," he moved on. Not much to say about that. "There's a little laundry room/pantry thing around the corner there, and then this hallway goes back to the bedrooms. The bathroom is there at the end, and that's Sam's room next to it."

"Um," Bucky started, like he was worried he shouldn't be interrupting.

"Yeah?" Steve asked.

Bucky's brow furrowed and he inhaled, and it looked like he was reminding himself that Steve had told him it was okay to ask questions. "Um, sorry, but who…who is Sam? Am I…Am I supposed to know him?"

Steve paused. "Oh. Um, you know what, no, actually." Sam had been such a great help in his searching for Bucky that he'd forgotten that they'd only ever met in combat. "Sorry, I forgot. You've…crossed paths, but I don't think you've ever talked to him." He wondered if Bucky would remember him when he saw him. "He's a friend of mine. He lives here too," he finished, hoping that if he did remember, mentioning that he was a friend would keep things from getting uncomfortable.

"Okay," Bucky nodded. "Thank you."

The thanks for the explanation felt oddly formal, but Steve didn't comment and just nodded and smiled back. "Um, oh, yeah, this one's my room," he said, pushing the door open to continue the tour. "You're welcome to come in any time, you know, if you need me for anything. And this one…" He pushed open the door across the hall from his. "Is your room."

The room was sparsely furnished, but ready to be moved in to. There was a bed with clean sheets and lots of pillows—Bucky had always liked having a pile of pillows on his bed, and had complained about the lack of them more than anything else in the Army. There was a nightstand with a little lamp, a dresser and an empty desk. Steve hadn't been sure what sort of things Bucky would have or would need when they found him, so he'd wanted the room to be comfortable, but empty enough that he could make it his own.

Bucky did not follow Steve into the room, but stood in the doorway with an unreadable expression on his face. He opened and closed his mouth several times, then swallowed hard. "My room?" he whispered.

"Yeah," Steve replied. "Is that okay?" He wasn't sure what that look on Bucky's face meant.

Bucky took one step into the room. "You…" He looked around. "You had a place for me?"

Steve smiled warmly, even as his heart ached at what he now recognized as bewildered wonder at the simple gesture. "Yeah, Buck. It's been ready for you since we moved in. I was gonna keep looking for you until I found you, and I wanted you to have somewhere to stay when I did."

Bucky swallowed again and for a moment, emotion seemed to twitch his mouth up in one corner. He moved further into the room, his eyes soaking in every inch. "You really did this for me?" he asked softly.

Steve nodded, not sure what to say that wouldn't cheapen the moment.

Bucky stopped by the bed, staring at it intently and resting tentative fingertips on the mattress. "You got me a bed," he said, in a shaking voice so quiet Steve barely caught it.

There was so much in that little sentence that made Steve's heart break for his friend, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching a hand over onto Bucky's shoulder. Bucky tensed under his grip, but didn't move away. "Yeah, Buck," he told him. Not wanting to press his luck, he squeezed his shoulder, then let go. "I did." He waited until Bucky looked up from the bed and met his gaze. "Welcome home," he said warmly.

Bucky looked into his eyes for a long minute, then nodded, and the smallest, most beautiful smile Steve had ever seen tugged up one corner of his mouth. "Thank you," he said quietly, and this time it didn't sound formal or awkward at all.

Bucky looked back down at the bed, thoughtfully smoothing out a wrinkle in the blanket. The silence was broken by the soft opening and shutting of the front door, and all the tension that had started to drain out of Bucky's frame was back in an instant, his eyes wide and alert as he moved a hand under his jacket to where Steve assumed there was some sort of weapon.

"It's okay," he told him, raising one of his hands. "That's just Sam coming home."

"Steve? You here, man?" Sam called from the kitchen right on cue.

"Yeah," Steve called back. He looked back at Bucky, who looked no less on edge. "You want to come out and meet him? It's okay if you don't. You can stay in here, and I'll just let him know you're here."

Bucky tilted his head a little to the side and considered Steve, inhaling deeply as his eyebrows furrowed just as he had done when Steve had asked him if he wanted to come inside. Steve felt like there was something significant there he was missing, but he couldn't quite pinpoint it.

"No, I…" Bucky nodded to himself. "I can come."

"Okay," Steve said, smiling warmly and resisting the urge to clap him on the shoulder again. He nodded towards the hallway and Bucky followed behind him. "Hey, Sam," he greeted, stepping into the kitchen. "We've got company."

"Oh, okay," Sam said, his back to Steve as he put a gallon of milk in the fridge. "If they're staying for supper, we may have to order in, 'cause I—" His voice died in his throat as he turned around and his eyes landed on Bucky. "Oh," he said quietly. "Wow." The two of them stared at each other for an uncomfortably long minute, then Sam smiled and extended a hand and said, "Hey, man. Good to see you again. I don't know if you remember, but I'm Sam."

Bucky extended his hand almost mechanically, more like it was a reflex than because he wanted to, and shook Sam's. "Hi, Sam," he said awkwardly.

They let go and the silence got uncomfortable very quickly. "So, uh, I'll work on getting some dinner," Sam said at last. "I don't think we have enough groceries for two super soldiers, so, uh…You like Chinese food?"

"I don't know," Bucky replied.

"Oh. Right. Well, I guess we can give it a try. That work for you, Steve?"

"Chinese sounds great," Steve told him. "Thanks." He turned to Bucky. "We can go and get you settled in while he's working on that." They started moving towards Bucky's room. "Do you, um, do have any stuff you want to unpack?" There was a small backpack on his back that he hadn't taken off yet, but Steve wasn't sure if he'd left more stuff down in the alley or wherever he'd been staying.

Bucky slipped his backpack off into his hand. "Where do you want me to put it?"

"It's your room," Steve said. "You can put it wherever you want to. The closet's empty, and there's lots of drawers in the dresser and the desk, but you can throw it on the floor if that's what you want to do with it."

Bucky had that look on his face again as he stared down at his backpack. After a long minute, he looked back up at Steve with an expression of poorly-concealed helplessness and Steve realized with a pang that no one had offered him the chance to make a choice in sixty-nine years, and Steve seemed to have given him too many options. "Can you please tell me where it should go?" he asked in a very small voice.

"Okay," Steve said with a sad smile. "Let's see what you've got."

Bucky shook the contents of the backpack onto the bed. Steve was surprised at how little was in there—he had several clips of ammunition, a couple of knives and what looked like a grenade, a tightly rolled bundle of black leather that it took Steve a moment to recognize as the combat vest and pants he'd been wearing back in April, a few protein bars, a shoelace, a pair of socks, and three dog-eared spiral-bound notebooks with pens clipped into the coils.

"Okay," Steve said again, biting back a worried, 'Is this all you have?'. He didn't know how that would be taken. "Let's start with these." He picked up the clips of ammo. "I'm guessing these go to a gun that's…on you, somewhere." Bucky nodded timidly, like he was waiting for a negative reaction. "Alright." He would really rather Bucky not be armed in the apartment, but it was probably going to take him a little while to feel safe. He'd just—well, he'd let Sam know, and they'd just be aware of it and maybe bring it up in a few days after he was more settled.

"What if we put some of it in the drawer in the nightstand and some of it in the desk? That way, it's in different parts of the room in case you need it."

"Okay," Bucky agreed, relaxing a little when Steve didn't get mad about the gun.

"And maybe split the knives that way too?" Steve suggested. "Even spread?"

Bucky nodded, and they spent a few minutes putting the weapons in drawers. Bucky tucked the grenade in the dresser.

Steve unrolled the combat outfit, feeling a little chill as he looked down at it. It felt kind of intimidating just laying flat in his hands, and up close, he could see the way the straps and harnesses fastened and how they would have locked Bucky in. "Do you want to keep this?" he asked carefully.

Bucky's mouth opened soundlessly, then closed again. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I tried…I couldn't throw it away."

"Alright," Steve said. He thought about offering to do it for him, but that felt like a step Bucky needed to take himself. "How about I put it in the closet?" He put it on a hanger and slid it back into the corner. "It's here in the back, out of the way, so you don't have to see it. You can decide what you want to do with it later."

The protein bars and the single shoelace went into the top drawer of the desk, the lone pair of socks into the dresser, and the three notebooks and pens were laid out on top of the desk. "Now," Steve told him. "If you decide you don't like where any of this is, you can move it. Okay?" He waited for Bucky to nod. "Later on, we'll see about getting you some clothes and stuff, but for now, you can borrow some of mine."

"Really?" Bucky asked curiously.

"Sure. It may be a little big, but that's alright. Let me go grab some of it for you." He crossed the hall to his room, quickly grabbing up what he thought he would need. He paused in the hallway, watching as Bucky picked up one of the notebooks and moved it from the desk to the nightstand, placing it reverently by the lamp. Steve wondered what was in it. He cleared his throat to announce his presence, noting the way Bucky jumped a little, and came back into the room.

"Here you go. I brought a few different things so you can decide what feels more comfortable."

"Thank you," Bucky said, looking at the pile of clothes like he was trying to figure it out.

"If you want," Steve offered. "I can wash what you've got on there so it'll be clean for you." Bucky was wearing what looked like his combat boots, a pair of worn, dirty jeans that had seen better days, a couple of layers of long-sleeved shirts in varying degrees of rattiness, and a coat that probably used to be a lighter shade of gray. All of it was discolored and stained and dirty and didn't smell very good.

Bucky considered the offer, then nodded. "Okay." He shrugged out of the coat and reached for the buckle of his belt.

"Whoa!" Steve said. "I meant, I thought you might want to take a shower, and then you could change and we could get everything washed." He really didn't want to think about why Bucky didn't seem to have a problem with stripping down in front of him like that.

"Oh," Bucky grimaced. He winced and stepped back a couple of paces. "I'm sorry. I didn't understand, I'm sorry," he stammered as he backed away.

"No, no, hey, it's okay," Steve hurried to assure him. "It's alright, I'm not mad. It, you know what? It was me; I should have been more clear. It's fine. Would you like to take a shower?" he finished.

Bucky took longer to think about that one. "Okay," he said at last. He followed Steve to the bathroom, and Steve pointed out the clean towels and showed him where the shampoo and soap and stuff was. "Take as long as you'd like," he said. "We've got plenty of hot water," he finished with a smile. Bucky nodded, seemingly in thought, but did not smile back.

Steve let out a long sigh as he closed the bathroom door. Man, this was turning out to be tougher than he'd thought. He needed to talk to Sam, figure out how exactly to talk to a POW with Bucky's level of trauma. He really should have done that as part of his prep work before Bucky had gotten here, he just…he guessed he'd been hoping it would be easy. That Bucky would remember and they would just be okay again. But it looked like it was going to take some more time to get there, so Steve was going to make sure he was doing this right. Bucky had felt safe enough to come back—Steve didn't want to do the wrong thing and make him feel like he'd made the wrong decision. Bucky was going to get better and Steve was going to help him. However long it took.

"Hey, Sam," Steve greeted, moving back into the kitchen. Sam looked up from his laptop and arched a questioning eyebrow. "Bucky's getting a shower," he added.

"Okay." Sam closed the laptop and stood up. "What the hell, dude, you found him?! When did this happen? Also, just FYI, a little heads up would have been nice."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. It was all just…I didn't actually find him, he found me. And we got up here maybe fifteen minutes before you got home."

"Oh. What do you mean he found you? Are you telling me that he's been trying to find you this whole time we were trying to find him?"

"No. Apparently, he's been here in New York almost the whole time."

"What?!"

"I know," Steve sighed. He recounted for Sam what had happened since he'd seen Bucky in the alley. "Sam," he sighed. "I don't…I don't know what to do here, man. This is all just…"

"Not how you pictured it?" Sam finished.

"Yeah."

"What were you picturing?" Sam asked curiously.

Steve shrugged. "I guess I just thought…"

"You thought you'd be like you used to be?" Sam guessed.

"Well, not all at once," Steve said defensively. "I know he's…He needs a lot of help, and that doesn't just go away, I know that, I just…Him and me, I thought we'd be alright. But, Sam, it's like he's scared of me."

Sam nodded. "I know that's rough, man, and I'm sorry. But think about where he's coming from. Punishment for dissent and minor infractions and crap is a big part of brainwashing and mental conditioning, and he's coming off of sixty-nine years of Hydra digging around in his head. No matter how well he remembers you, something buried that deep is gonna take a while to shake. I know it's not easy, but try not to take it personally."

"Sam, I…" Steve sighed, thinking back to a few minutes ago and the way Bucky reacted to the misunderstanding about the shower. "It's like he thinks I'm gonna hurt him if he gets the tiniest thing wrong. How…" He sighed and shook his head. If Bucky was really in there, how could he think that? It hurt, and he felt selfish being hurt by it when Bucky was the one who needed the help, but he couldn't help it.

Sam put a sympathetic hand to his shoulder. "I'm sorry, man. I really am. But, you know what? He said he remembers you, right?"

Steve nodded. How much he remembered him seemed to be up in the air, but…

"So, he was afraid you would want revenge for him almost killing you in April, he's afraid of getting hurt for messing up, but, dude, he still came back all on his own. He's scared, but what he remembers about you was enough to push him past that. He trusts you."

Hope fluttered in Steve's chest at the thought.

"It's still not gonna be easy," Sam cautioned. "Everything he thought he knew fell apart in April, and he's been on the run since then. It's gonna take a while for things to settle, but he trusts you. That's why he came back. That's what's gonna get you guys through this."

Steve nodded, encouraged. "You're right." He smiled. "Thanks, man." He eyed Sam thoughtfully. "Are you okay with this? I know we've been trying to find him, but…"

"Actually having the man who was actively trying to kill me ten feet down the hall?" He smiled. "Yeah, it's a lot, but that was the deal. I may be sleeping a little lighter for the next few nights, but we'll all figure this thing out."

Warm surged through Steve's chest at Sam's use of the word 'we'. Considering that Sam only knew Bucky as the guy who tried to kill him several times, he had every excuse to just bow out and declare the whole thing Steve's problem. "Yeah. Hey, you know, I can't tell you how much it's meant to me, you having my back on this."

Sam smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Sure thing." He looked down at his watch. "Food should be here in about twenty minutes." He looked up and cocked his head thoughtfully. "Has he…He hasn't actually turned on the water yet, has he?"

Steve didn't hear anything. "Huh." It might not be anything, but maybe he should check. "I'm just gonna go knock on the door, make sure he's alright."

Sam nodded and returned to his laptop. Steve made his way back down the hall and paused outside the door of the bathroom. He hesitated. Was this…He was probably hovering, wasn't he? He didn't want Bucky to think he was going to be breathing down his neck the whole time he was here. He almost walked away again, but stopped and rapped his knuckles on the door. He'd been really quiet for fifteen minutes, and it was probably nothing, but Steve just needed to make sure it was nothing.

"Hey, Buck? You, ah, you okay?" There was no response. He waited. "Bucky?" he asked tentatively. There was a soft little noise in response that time that Steve couldn't identify, but he didn't like. "Are you alright?" Nothing again. "Is it okay if I come in?"

Steve eased the door open and instinctively started to yank it closed again when he caught sight of Bucky, completely naked, standing next to the tub and staring at the shower, but he stopped just shy of slamming it shut again when the expression he'd caught on Bucky's face finally registered. "Bucky, what's wrong?" he asked.

Bucky was staring at the shower with the same overwhelmed look he'd had when Steve had asked him where he'd wanted to put his stuff, except this time it was multiplied by about ten. He looked terrified. He jumped when Steve spoke, the terror on his face increasing instead of dissipating, and he backed away as far he could—which was only two feet to the left—before he hit the wall. "I'm sorry!" he exclaimed. "I can't—I know I'm supposed to know how this works, but I can't remember! I don't remember, I don't remember, I'm sorry, I'm trying, I'm trying, please…" He was hunching in on himself defensively, sliding down the wall behind him until he was curled into a little ball against the corner of the bathtub. "Please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can figure it out! I can make it work, I just, I need more time, please, I'm sorry, don't…"

"Bucky," Steve breathed sadly. He moved into the room and dropped to his knees on the bathmat in front of his friend. "Bucky, no, it's okay."

"No, no," Bucky said, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and too busy panicking to worry about how close Steve was to him. "I'm getting it wrong, I'm getting everything wrong—this—I can't—I shouldn't—"

He stopped talking abruptly, looking up with a sharp gasp when Steve grabbed his shoulders. "Bucky, listen to me," Steve told him, staring into those steel blue eyes that were still achingly familiar even though they were heartbreakingly lost and afraid. "Listen to me. I can't even begin to imagine what kind of stuff Hydra did to you. But I know they hurt you. I know they hurt you, and Bucky, I am never going to hurt you. I am never going to get mad at you for forgetting something, and I am never going to get mad at you for making a mistake, and no matter how many times you do either one of those, I will never, ever hurt you. And I think you know that. Somewhere in here—" He moved his hand off of Bucky's metal shoulder to tap his chest. "Somewhere in here, you know that, and if you forget it sometimes, I will remind you of it as many times as you need."

Bucky was no longer panicking but sitting still as a statue, staring at Steve wide-eyed and barely breathing.

"You're safe here, Bucky," Steve told him. "You asked me if I would help you, and I will. I'm going to help you because you're my friend, and I want to you to be okay."

"I don't…" Bucky whispered. He shook his head. "I don't even know what that looks like anymore," he said in a small voice.

"I know," Steve said sadly. "I know." Taking a chance, he slid his hands around Bucky's shoulders and to his back, pulling him in carefully. Bucky tensed for just a second, then choked down a sob and fell into the embrace, hiding his face in Steve's chest. "But we're gonna find it together," Steve promised. "You and me. You don't have to do this alone anymore. I'm going to help you, and I'm going to keep you safe, and no one's going to hurt you anymore. You're safe, Bucky," he said, tightening his grip on his friend. "You're home."

The last strains of tension melted out of Bucky's frame, and he sank against Steve and started to cry. Steve just held on and let him, and maybe rocked back and forth a little bit, and if his eyes were watering too, well, the brother he'd lost sixty-nine years ago had finally come home. He was entitled.

They sat there for a long time, neither saying anything. Bucky's hands were latched onto the front of Steve's shirt, and Steve was cradling Bucky's head with one hand, the other rubbing soothing lines slowly up and down his back. Steve could feel the myriad scars on Bucky's back—the lines that stretched halfway across his back were jagged and coarse where skin and scar tissue met, though incongruously soft across their raised surfaces, like the skin was stretched too thin over the ripples of damaged tissue. Each one of them radiated out from where metal and skin were thrust together at the shoulder in a thick, knotted coil of flesh that still felt raw under Steve's fingers. He could also feel Bucky's collar bones and ribs sticking out too sharply as his hand brushed over them, but he wasn't going to think about any of that right now. There would be time later to agonize and rage over how Hydra had hurt him. There would be time later to worry and ache over how he'd spent so much time alone, unfed and uncared for on the streets. There would be all the time in the world for that. Right now was the time to rejoice that those scars and those bones were here to be felt at all, because Bucky was home. Right now was the time to be the first rock, the first anchor his friend had had to hold on to in seven decades. Right now was the start of healing. For both of them.

When Bucky finally stopped shaking, he sat up and looked at Steve, and for the first time, he looked calm. He blinked the last of the tears from his eyes and dashed his metal hand across his nose, and though his mouth didn't move, there was something in his eyes that made Steve think he might be smiling. "Are you okay?" Steve asked.

Bucky sniffed and nodded. "I think so." He looked like he wanted to say something else, so Steve waited. "And I…I do remember you. I don't want you to think I…" He shook his head, unable to find the words he wanted. "You're Steve. You're my friend. And I remember that. And I know…Somewhere…" He gestured at his chest as Steve had done. "You don't want to hurt me. And you won't. And I know that, I just…" He grimaced, having lost the words again. "I'm sorry, I can't…" He closed his eyes and pressed a hand to his forehead.

"It's okay," Steve told him. Sam had been right. Bucky was in there, and Bucky trusted him, he just wasn't always the one with his hands on the steering wheel. "I understand."

"You do?" Bucky asked curiously.

"I do," Steve replied. He hoped he looked sincere, and he must have, because a little corner of Bucky's mouth curved up gratefully. Steve got to his feet and held out a hand, which Bucky accepted. He still didn't seem to mind that he was naked, so Steve decided not to say anything. That was probably a whole different can of worms, and they could worry about it later. "You want to try the shower thing again?" he offered.

Bucky drew in a deep breath. "Okay."

"Alright. So, there's not a lot to it," Steve said, reaching forward into the bathtub. "This knob with the red is the hot water. The blue one is cold." He turned the hot water on to demonstrate. "You give it a minute or two to get hot, and you can mix in some cold to keep it from getting too hot, then you flip this little lever right here." He flipped the lever and the water came spraying out the shower head at the top, the abrupt change making Bucky startle a little bit. Steve turned all the water off and flipped the lever back down. "Why don't you try it?" he offered, stepping back and gesturing at the tub.

Bucky moved to take his place, turning on the water and then continuing to adjust the knobs at Steve's encouraging glance. He flipped the lever when he had it set and stared at the spray for a few seconds. "And now I get in it?" he guessed.

Steve nodded. "Mm-hmm." He hated to sound like he thought Bucky was stupid and walk him through each step, but he didn't want to assume again and have another meltdown like before. "Do you know where to go from here?"

Bucky stepped over the wall of the tub and into the spray, eyeing the walls of the shower and the various toiletries on the corner shelf. "I think so," he said, sounding mostly sure of that.

"Do you want me to go?" Steve asked, taking a step towards the door.

"Um," Bucky said uncertainly. He looked down at his feet then back up at Steve again. "No," he said quietly.

"Alright," Steve said, smiling gently. He shut the door and closed the toilet lid, taking a seat. "I'm gonna close this," he said, leaning forward to grab the edge of the shower curtain and slowly pull it closed. "Just to keep the water off the floor." And to give Bucky some privacy, which was probably something else he hadn't had in a long time. "But I'll be right here. You need anything, just ask."

"Thanks," Bucky said softly from behind the curtain. For several minutes it was quiet, and all Steve could hear was the spray of the shower and the drops of water pinging off Bucky's metal arm. He smiled softly to himself and wondered if Bucky remembered that he used to sing in the shower. Loudly. And not always well.

"What's conditioner for?" Bucky asked.

"It goes in your hair after the shampoo," Steve told him. "It's optional, but it's supposed to be good for your hair." Given that Bucky didn't know how the shower worked, it was safe to say he hadn't bathed since escaping Hydra, possibly longer. His hair could probably use it. (Steve refused to think farther than that and wonder how Hydra had gotten him cleaned off when he came back from missions.)

"Okay. Thank you," Bucky said.

After a few more minutes the water went off, and Bucky pulled the curtain back. He was dripping wet, scars and old bruises still painfully visible, and he was way too thin, but he looked a lot better. Steve stood up and handed him a towel. "Feel better?" he asked.

Bucky considered. "Yeah," he replied, sounding faintly surprised by that. "I do."

Steve smiled. "Good." He waited while Bucky dried himself off. "You want to try shaving, or should we save that for later?" He knew Bucky had usually preferred to be clean-shaven, even on missions during the war, when he had to shave with cold water from a tin cup.

"Do you want me to shave?" Bucky asked, his arms moving to tie the towel around his waist seemingly of their own accord.

"I want you to do whatever you want with the hair on your face," Steve replied.

Bucky stepped in front of the mirror and considered, drawing a hand over the scruff covering the lower half of his face. "Can I try?"

"Sure." Steve grabbed a clean razor and some shaving cream, handing them to Bucky and talking him through the process. Like tying the towel around his waist, this seemed to be something his hands remembered how to do, even if he didn't look sure of it himself. He looked much more like the Bucky Steve remembered when he was done.

"Good job," Steve told him, hoping he sounded encouraging and not condescending.

Bucky responded with a small, grateful smile.

Back in Bucky's room, Steve pulled out a pair of clean boxers and some drawstring pants that should tie tight enough to stay up. "Here," he said. "I think these should fit you best. Which shirt do you want?"

Bucky ran his hand thoughtfully over the shirts and sweaters that Steve had brought in. "Can I wear this one?" he asked. His hand was resting on a dark blue hoodie, and it would be the Captain America shield one that Tony had given him as a joke. Steve never wore it out where Tony might see him, but he kept it because it was comfortable.

"Sure." He smiled and left Bucky to get dressed.

"That took a while," Sam remarked when Steve walked back into the kitchen. He was eating noodles and chicken out of a takeout box. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Steve nodded. "He, uh…" He wasn't sure how much he should share. "He didn't remember how the shower worked." He peeked into the tops of the multitude of unopened boxes sitting on the counter to see what else Sam had ordered.

"Mm," Sam replied. "Considering how he smelled, that doesn't surprise me." Steve shot a glare at him, and Sam shrugged. "He cool now, though?"

"I think so." Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "This is gonna be a lot of work. But I think…" He paused, thinking. He'd held on to Bucky and let him cry, and Bucky had let him, and had smiled a little bit and didn't seem as nervous as before. There was still a long way to go, but something had clicked into place. "I think it's gonna be alright."

Bucky came out then, and Steve helped him brush six months' worth of tangles out of his hair, then they had dinner. Bucky ate hesitantly at first, like he wasn't sure how much he was allowed to eat, but Steve and Sam both encouraged him to take as much as he needed, and there wasn't any left by the time they were done.

"I did like it," he told Sam quietly. "Thank you."

Sam looked kind of surprised by that, so he just said, "Sure thing, man."

They went to bed not too long after, and Steve didn't know how well Bucky slept or what might happen or anything, but he told Bucky that if he needed him at all, he shouldn't be scared to come wake him up. Bucky nodded and thanked him, then studied him carefully for a long minute, surprising Steve when he added, "Don't worry, Steve, I'll be here in the morning."

Steve blushed and nodded and said goodnight. Bucky had always been able to read him like a book, and, well, he had been worrying—just a little—that Bucky might decide this was a bad idea and disappear in the middle of the night. He hoped the fact that Bucky knew he was thinking that and the fact that he had promised to stay were both good signs. Back in his room, Steve stopped in the middle not really looking at anything, and huffed a disbelieving laugh, feeling himself smile and aware that he was probably grinning like an idiot, but he couldn't stop. He'd found Bucky. He was really here. His best friend had finally come home, and he'd brought back a little piece of Steve's soul with him. Bucky was back.

And when Steve got up in the morning, Bucky was still there.