Alright, Steve is safe and sound, and now it's time for a bit of a break and some fluff and recovery.

Bucky hated sleeping in the infirmary—the beds were a lot less comfortable than the ones in the dorm, and they almost felt too short. But this was where Steve was, and Steve didn't need to be alone right now.

They'd landed fairly smoothly back in the infirmary, although Steve would have fallen out of the chair if Bucky hadn't been holding onto his shoulder. Nurse Rains had been waiting for them, and she'd set to examining Steve at once. Bucky had had the thought before, but it occurred to him anew that there was no way Rains could be the Hydra spy. Never mind the fact that if she was, she had failed spectacularly at several opportunities to kill the team and make it look like an accident. Watching her with Steve, remembering the times she'd treated him and the others, Bucky knew it was impossible. The deft, gentle way her hands moved, the soothing string of Welsh assurances she muttered, and the absolute fury burning behind the motherly concern in her eyes when any student in her charge came in hurt—she cared too much. No Hydra spy could be that good an actor.

She'd gotten Steve out of the chair and into a bed—an impressive feat considering he had thirteen inches and at least a hundred pounds on her—and once he was lying comfortably, she had started muttering little healing spells over him as he fell asleep. Jim had been right—she was fast. Bucky had been able to see the bruises and cuts fading and vanishing, the burns knitting back together, leaving his skin smooth and healthy again.

"There we are, then," Rains had said when she was done, pulling a blanket up over him and patting his hair. "Rest now, love." She turned to face the rest of them. "Right, time for you three."

"We're fine," Bucky had said. "What about—"

"That's for me to decide, Mr. Barnes," she'd told him, waving at him to sit down. "Cooperate and I'll give you the full report," she'd added with a knowing smile.

Bucky had sat and allowed her to run her diagnostic spells, and she had kept her word and told him and Jim and Peggy what she'd found as she checked them over. Steve's injuries had been extensive, but they were uncomplicated and easy enough to heal. Whatever they'd been drugging him with—Bucky and Jim had been right, it was a sedative—was incredibly powerful and there was a lot of it. It was going to take nearly a week to work itself out of his system completely, but it would do so with no lasting effects. That had been a relief to hear, although Bucky had felt a renewed sense of angry magic vibrating under his skin when Rains had mentioned that this sedative seemed to have been custom-designed to affect the super-soldier serum—they'd made it just for Steve.

Right now, though, everything was calm. Dugan and Monty had showed up not long after the rest of them and been reassured that Steve was alright. Rains had sent them all off to get some rest then, with the exception of Bucky, who she'd told that he could stay in the infirmary over night as long he spent some of the time sleeping. And he'd been asleep, at least until Steve had started tossing and making little distressed noises in his sleep. Bucky went and sat on the side of Steve's bed then, brushing his hand back through his hair, and that seemed to quiet him. Bucky wondered what he was dreaming about—if the drugs were messing with his head, or if Zwart had done something awful to him that he was reliving in his sleep. He hoped it was the first one.

Bucky fell back asleep around dawn, waking up just before noon with the triumphant return of Jacques and Gabe. Both were unharmed, and Jacques had found some blood samples of Steve's that he'd destroyed, but nothing else that seemed compromising. He did bring back armfuls of non-Steve related paperwork for Peggy and Howard to pore over, and he cackled happily as he told Bucky that he'd left behind several booby-trap spells and a few explosives, and had let the furry little multi-headed hell-beast out of its room before sealing the window back up when he left.

Steve woke up later in the afternoon, and though he couldn't stay awake long and kept drifting in and out, he seemed aware most of the time and unhurt—just an exhausted version of his usual self. It took several times of waking and falling asleep again before he was able to get all his questions about the mission answered and be assured that the rest of the team was fine and no one was hurt.

Phillips did come in to talk to him after dinner, and while he was trying to figure out if Steve had unwittingly given anything away he shouldn't have, he was obviously trying to be gentle about it, which Bucky found both touching and amusing. Touching, because it showed that Phillips cared, and amusing because he wasn't very good at it.

"What did they want from you, Rogers?" he asked.

"Whatever they could get, Sir," Steve replied. "They took a lot of blood, but…" He turned to Bucky. "You said Jacques took care of that, right?"

Bucky nodded. "Yeah. It's all good."

"Otherwise," Steve shrugged. "Whatever they could get on the S.S.R. They knew I knew a lot."

"And what did you tell them?" Phillips asked gruffly. He checked himself. "I know there were…extenuating circumstances. I'm not accusing you of anything, I just want to know what we should be looking out for." He took a breath and tried again in a softer voice. "What did they do?"

Steve smiled a little. "They tried a lot of things to get me to talk. They hit me a lot. That didn't work."

Phillips snorted at that, and Bucky supposed, aside from the part where people were hitting Steve, it was kind of funny. Anyone who knew him at all knew all that would do was make him more obstinate.

"And they tried using Veritaserum, but I don't…I don't think it works on me," Steve continued.

"It doesn't," Phillips confirmed. "Erskine didn't mention that?"

"No, Sir," Steve replied. "It didn't make me tell them anything, but it did make me throw up a lot." He sighed. "They kept trying different potions and things, and it…" He rubbed his forehead with a shaky hand. "It all kind of blends together, but I either passed out or got sick. They did find something, though. I don't know what it was, I think Zwart made it himself."

Bucky felt nervous knots twisting in his stomach as Steve paused to yawn. What had they done? What had they made him do?

Both he and Phillips were leaning in tensely when Steve started speaking again. "It made me feel really weird. Everything went all…twirly. Then he started asking me stuff and I couldn't…I just, I just had to talk. And I wanted to answer his question, I really did, but I knew I wasn't s'posed to do that, so before I could start, I just started talking about the first thing that came into my head. And once I got going, I couldn't stop."

Phillips and Bucky looked at each other and then back at Steve. "And what was the first thing that came into your head?" Phillips asked.

"Um," Steve blushed a little. "How to knit."

Phillips blinked. "How to knit?" he repeated, like he wasn't sure he'd heard him right.

"Yessir," Steve replied. "I was just, I was thinking how I wished I was at home instead of in that chair, and I remembered that at Christmas, which was the last time I was at home, Bucky showed me how, so I started telling Zwart how to hold the needles and stuff and what the different holds are, an' I walked him through how to make a scarf, an' he didn't want to hear about that, so he hit me, but whatever the potion was, it was too strong an' I couldn't stop, so I finished telling him how to make a scarf. Then I talked about salamanders for a while, 'cause we learned about those in Fourth Year, an' I remember 'em real good for some reason, an' when I was done with the salamanders I told him about Dadaism and the Bauhaus, an' I thought maybe he would like that 'cause he's German, but he didn't, an' he got mad an' left."

Steve was starting to slur his words, and Bucky didn't think he had a lot of consciousness left in him, but he was grinning as he listened to Steve ramble. It was pretty fantastic.

"So, you…" Phillips cut in to clarify when Steve stopped for a breath. "You talked to him about knitting, salamanders, and art?"

"Uh huh," Steve said, and he must really be tired if he forgot the 'Sir'. "He left, but he told vulture-guy to stay 'case I said anything important."

"Vulture-guy?" Phillips asked.

"Zwart's valet, Sir," Bucky clarified.

"Mm-hmm," Steve confirmed. "I still couldn't stop, though. He said it took me six hours to stop. An' he was pissed about it. I told him about my favorite kind of pie, an' the diff'rent kinds of wrenches you can use to work on a car, an' what you should do if someone's having an asthma attack, an' how to build a motorcycle from the wheels up, an' the plot of The Hobbit. I didn' do the Gollum voice, though."

Bucky barked out a surprised laugh at that, and Phillips gave him a strange look before returning his eyes to Steve. "So, let me get this straight. You rambled for six hours about absolutely nothing?"

"Yessir."

"And that's all you told them?"

"Yessir."

He huffed a disbelieving laugh and shook his head. "Alright, then." He stood up, took a step, turned back to the bed. "Get well soon, son," he said, patting him awkwardly on the arm. Then he left.

"You really did all that?" Bucky asked, smiling.

"Uh huh," Steve replied sleepily. "D' I do good?" Steve asked, losing half the sentence in a yawn.

"You did great," Bucky confirmed.

"I tried," Steve said. "Knew it was 'portant."

"Yeah, it was," Bucky agreed. "And you did great," he said again. With as drugged up as Steve had been, no one would have blamed him for spilling something. But he hadn't. Bucky's grin softened and he brushed his fingers back through Steve's hair as his eyes started to close. "That's my boy."

Steve smiled and let his eyes close all the way. "Thanks," he whispered. There was a long pause, and then, "y'r hair still looks r'diculous, by th' way."

Bucky laughed and swatted Steve softly on the shoulder. "Go to sleep, punk."

The next morning, after Steve complained about his hair again, Bucky went downstairs to see if he could get Peggy to help him fix it. If Steve was giving him this much grief about it, he could only imagine what Becky would do.

He found her down in her office, half-buried behind the pile of stuff Jacques had brought back from Zwart's house. It took her a couple of tries, but she managed to find the right spell to fix his hair. He inspected his reflection in the window, pleased to see it back to its original dark brown.

"Thanks," he told her, smoothing it back down.

"You're welcome," she replied, returning to her pile.

"Hey," he continued. "Have you been up to see Steve lately?" Bucky had been up there almost the whole time since they'd gotten back, and he hadn't seen her.

He could only see part of her face over the stacks of papers she was behind, but he thought she was blushing. "No," she replied. "Jim and Dugan have been keeping me up to date, though."

Well, that was nice she was checking on his progress, but something was definitely off. "Why haven't you been up there?" he asked.

"I…I've got a lot to do before I go home tomorrow," she said, gesturing at her desk. "And Steve's been asleep nearly the whole time anyway," she added.

Bucky leaned back against her desk and crossed his arms. "Uh huh," he said. He didn't buy that for a second. "Are you the same girl who pulled off being Elsa von Weir two days ago? Because, I gotta tell you, you're a worse liar than Steve is."

She didn't say anything and Bucky sighed. "Look, whatever it is, just go see him, alright? He thinks you're avoiding him."

"I am avoiding him," Peggy replied quietly.

Bucky nodded. He hadn't wanted to say it to Steve, but he'd thought so too. And he thought he knew why.

"It's my fault he's up there," Peggy continued softly.

Yep, there it was. "No, it isn't," Bucky replied.

"Yes, it is."

"How d'you figure?"

"Because…" She sighed and threw a hand out toward her desk. "He got caught and he got hurt because I sent you to Salzburg. For nothing. There wasn't a mission—there was never a mission—and I didn't see it. You all could have gotten killed, and everything that happened to him happened because of me—"

"Whoa, Peggy, hey," Bucky said. "What happened to Steve happened because of Zwart. Zwart and this freaking spy, who we are gonna find and nail to the wall. Not you."

"Yes, it was because of me," she insisted. "You don't understand, the entire thing was a setup, and I missed it. All the intelligence, all the reports…I work in military intelligence—it's only my bloody job!"

Her voice was getting very high and tight and her lips were starting to quiver, so, carefully, Bucky took a step forward and opened his arms in invitation, and her face twisted up into a grimace and she stepped forward into the hug. "It's not your fault, Pegs," he told her. "You were doing the best you could with what you had. And if I know one thing, it had to be a hell of a forgery to get past you. And it didn't just get past you. It got past whoever else okayed this mission and whoever else passed the intel on to you in the first place. This spy we're after is good. They'd have to be to survive in the S.S.R. this long. But we're gonna get 'em. And all of this is on them, and the only one blaming you for it is you." He kissed the top of her head gently and ran a hand down over her hair, like he would with Becky. "Don't let 'em get to you like this."

She was quiet for a minute, then she nodded against his chest.

"And, hey, if you don't believe me, ask Steve," he told her, pulling back and smiling at her. "We both know he's a terrible liar."

She laughed a little at that and wiped at the corner of her eyes, though they were both still dry.

"So, will you go see him?" Bucky asked. "He misses you."

"Yeah," she nodded. "I miss him too."

Bucky waited while she locked her stuff up, then walked her back upstairs to the infirmary. Steve was asleep when they got there, so, after Bucky checked to make sure everything was still alright, he left, leaving Peggy to stay with him. He still didn't like leaving Steve alone while he was sick, but he and Peggy were going to have some things to talk about when he woke up and they didn't need an audience for that. Besides, they would be going home soon, so he should probably pack up some stuff.

He glanced over his shoulder as he reached the door. Peggy was sitting on the mattress next to Steve, leaning back against the headboard and carding her fingers gently through his hair. Bucky smiled. They just fit so well together. And they were going to be okay.

Winnifred Barnes was folding the laundry when a large silver bear appeared in the living room in front of her and made her yelp in surprise and drop George's shirts.

"Hey, ma," the bear said in Bucky's voice. "Um, I hope I'm doing this right, I've never talked through a Patronus before. Anyway, the nurse said Steve is good to go home now." Bucky had sent her a letter two days ago letting her know that he'd found Steve and they were both safe, but Steve needed a little more time in the infirmary. "He's still gonna be real tired," the bear continued. "But she said all he needs is sleep now, and he can do that at home. They're making us a Portkey and we should be coming home at 3:00. As far as I can tell, they're gonna drop us in the living room. See you then. Love you."

The bear vanished and Winnifred looked at the clock in the corner. They would be home in about an hour. She called Rebecca and they finished folding the laundry and made sure the beds were made up in the boys' room. She used the extra time to start getting things ready for dinner—they'd be eating a lot more with the two of them home.

Rebecca had grumbled at being sent down to George's shop to give him the message—she hadn't wanted to miss their arrival, but she made it back before they did. The air in the living room seemed to twist in the middle, and then there they were, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. Bucky staggered sideways under Steve's weight, and Winnifred rushed forward to help him, getting under Steve's unsupported shoulder.

"Hi, Ma," Bucky greeted. "Thanks." He readjusted his grip on Steve. "I got him now."

"Don't be silly, dear, I'm already here. Let me help you get him to your room." Steve didn't look sick, for which she was grateful, but he was swaying lethargically and didn't seem able to keep his feet.

"Hey, Mrs. Barnes," Steve said with a sleepy smile. " 's good t' see you."

"It's good to see you too, dear. We've been so worried about you. I'm so glad you're home."

They got him into the bedroom—Becky pulled down the covers for them—and lowered Steve down into bed. He was already (or 'still' might be the better word) in his pajamas. "Gimme a minute an' I'll…I'll be okay," Steve said.

"Give you a minute and you'll be asleep," Bucky said, slipping his arms out from the straps of the two backpacks he was wearing and dropping them to the floor.

"Nyuh uh," Steve retorted, even as his eyes slipped shut.

"Shut up and go to sleep, punk," Bucky replied, reaching down to ruffle his hair. Steve grunted in response.

"It's alright, Steve, get some rest." Winnifred leaned down and kissed his forehead, then brushed his hair back and adjusted the blanket. He hummed a little bit and then was quiet.

Turning around, she threw her arms around Bucky. "Welcome home, sweetheart," she said, kissing him on the cheek.

"Thanks, Ma," he said, hugging her back warmly. "I missed you."

"What about me?" Rebecca asked, worming her way into the middle of the hug.

"Nah," Bucky scoffed. "I saw you five days ago." Rebecca stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed, taking one arm off of Winnifred and looping it around his sister. " 'course I missed you, Munchkin," she heard him whisper.

So as not to bother Steve, they moved the reunion into the kitchen. Winnifred poured them all a cup of tea, and Bucky caught them up on the events of the past five days. Rebecca was fascinated with his recounting of the espionage part of the rescue mission with Peggy, asking for as many details as he was willing to give. It was fascinating, Winnifred had to admit, and they'd come out of it alive, so she chose not to dwell on how dangerous it had been. She did note that while Bucky was happy to grant Rebecca's request as far as describing the mansion or how he and Peggy had acted as though they belonged, details about finding Steve were very scant. The poor boy must have been in dreadful shape, which Rebecca did not need to hear about and Bucky did not want to think about. Winnifred sighed to herself. Just because they'd come out of it alive, it didn't make it any easier to watch her children suffer. Surely the war would be over some day.

Though Steve was hungry, he was rather grumpy about being woken up to eat dinner, and Winnifred had to smile at that. She'd seen plenty of sick Steve in her time—up close and personal for the two years he'd lived with them before getting big and healthy, and countless times before that as well. It was always funny to her how cranky it made him, given how very polite he was the rest of the time.

Not long after dinner, Bucky went to bed. He was tired—as well he should be after running around on dangerous missions and staying up late worrying after Steve. Two peas in a pod, those two, one always worrying after the other. All the times Steve had been sick when he was little, and Steve fretting over Bucky after Italy…A smile sprang to Winnifred's face as she remembered, oh, it must have been at least ten years ago now…Steve had broken his ankle—one of the bigger boys at school had pushed him down some stairs. Bucky had been over at the Rogers' apartment nearly every daylight hour, looking after Steve and keeping him company. Then Bucky had come down with the chicken pox. Steve had somehow managed to sneak away from Mrs. O'Brien while his mother was at work, drag himself and his broken ankle across the street and up three flights of stairs and into Bucky's room without being caught, then spent the day keeping Bucky from scratching and getting him water and food. It was sweet, really. Occasionally frustrating. But sweet.

Steve spent all of the next day in bed, though he was awake from time to time and seemed reasonably aware for most of that. When he was awake, Bucky was in there talking to him, and when he was asleep, Bucky wasn't far away. Bucky did protest a little bit at being asked to go out and pick up the groceries, but Winnifred assured him Steve was in good hands.

"I've looked after sick boys before, you know," she told him.

"I know, I didn't mean…" he mumbled, cheeks turning pink.

She kissed his cheek. "He'll be fine." She waved him towards the door. "The sooner you go, the sooner you'll be back."

Bucky nodded and left, and Winnifred kept her word, checking in on Steve as she passed to and fro. He slept on, and she tried not to think about whatever it was in his blood that was making him so tired. The war could be so cruel, and her boys, for all their heroics, were still just children.

A little bit later in the kitchen, she heard the soft whimper of distressed sleep. Drying her hands, she hurried down the hall and stopped in the bedroom doorway, surprised but touched by what she saw there. Steve was asleep, shifting uneasily, his breath coming in sharp hitches as something unpleasant visited his dreams. And sitting on the side of his mattress with her feet tucked up under her was Rebecca, stroking his hair and whispering soft reassurances.

"Sh, Steve, it's okay," she soothed, her voice low and gentle. "It's all okay now." She started humming something, her fingers continuing their soothing motion through his hair. Then she started to sing, and it took Winnifred a moment—she'd heard it so infrequently before and only ever from Sarah—to realize that her little girl was singing in Gaelic.

"Gille beag ò, gille lag ò, gille beag ò nan caorach," Rebecca sang softly. "Gille beag ò, gille lag ò, gille beag ò nan caorach." Steve was starting to breathe more easily, slowing in his agitated movement. "Gille nan caorachan, gille nan caorachan, gille nan caorachan, gaolach thu," Rebecca finished, and Steve was still and calm again. She looked up and saw Winnifred watching, then smiled a little self-consciously and slid off the bed. She pressed a soft kiss to Steve's forehead before tip-toeing out on bare feet.

"That was very sweet, dear," Winnifred said, sliding an arm over her daughter's shoulders. She cast a backwards glance to where Steve was sleeping peacefully once more. "What was that you were singing?"

"Steve would sing me and Esther that song during the air raids," she said. "Back when he was still little, and Jay was off doing other Army stuff. The first one came and we were scared, and Steve found us and held on to us and told us we'd be okay. He sang that song—real quiet, so the bombs wouldn't find us, but he sang it then and he'd sing it when other air raids happened." She smiled a little. "The air raids usually happen when him and Jay are gone now, and they're not as scary as they used to be, but me and Esther will still sing it together while we're sitting in the dark."

She drew in a deep breath. "Then when all that bad stuff happened to Jay and he was in the hospital for a while, there was one time…It was before you got there, but Jay was having a real bad time and Steve sang that song for him and it calmed him down." She smiled sadly. "He told me later his ma would sing him that song when he was sick. I thought it might make him feel better now if he could hear it."

Winnifred blinked back the sudden tears pooling in her eyes and leaned down and kissed Rebecca. "I think you were right," she told her. "I'm so glad you could do that for him." And what a sweet honor to Sarah's memory, that her song could still comfort her son these years later.

Steve was feeling well enough to get out of bed, though it still took an awful lot of effort to get around the house. He could manage a trip from the bedroom to the living room if he leaned heavily on the walls and furniture on the way there, but the change of scenery was nice, and it made him feel less like he was sick, even if staying awake once he hit the couch proved difficult.

He recalled a couple of times he'd felt this tired before when he was sick—pneumonia had always gotten him down like this, and that one time when he'd had scarlet fever. It was annoying and frustrating and kind of embarrassing—he hated how heavy and fuzzy and slow he felt—but it was at least comforting to know that this wasn't because he was sick, and it would pass soon.

Bucky didn't give him any grief for falling asleep mid-conversation, and Becky didn't either until he was moving around the house under his own steam again. She'd tease him then, and he didn't really mind. Usually.

He'd fallen asleep on the couch again, and arguing voices and something pinching his ear drew him out of sleep. Bucky was telling Becky that she shouldn't do something, and Becky was protesting that it wasn't hurting anything, and Steve turned his head to see what they were fussing about and opened his eyes, then shut them again as several small, wooden things fell and hit him in the face. Becky giggled.

"What was that?" he asked, brushing at his face and opening his eyes again when nothing else seemed ready to hit him.

"Someone," Bucky said, reaching for Steve's head. "Thought it would be funny to build a tower out of clothespins on your face while you were asleep." He unclipped the clothespin that had been attached to Steve's ear, holding it up to demonstrate.

"It was pretty tall too," Becky said proudly. "Almost a foot. Which I think was pretty good, especially since they were mostly just balancing and only one of 'em was clipped onto you. I didn't wanna pinch you too much."

"How very thoughtful," Steve said, sitting up.

"It was pretty tricky," she explained. "Next time, I'll clip it on your collar or something."

"How about next time, you don't stack clothespins on my face?" Steve suggested.

"Okay," she replied with a smile that told him he might should be on the lookout for something else stacked on his face instead.

Later that evening—he had managed to stay awake since dinner and was very proud of that—he was getting ready for bed. Bucky was sitting over on his bed watching him, looking like he was ready to spring into action if he lost his balance getting into his pajamas. Steve snorted to himself. Yeah, Steve was the one who hovered too much.

"So, you were telling me about you and Peggy looking for me in Zwart's house?" he prompted, having successfully gotten most of his pajamas on and sitting down on his mattress. (He did have to sit so he could look down and get the buttons on his shirt without falling over.) Bucky had been telling him over the course of the past couple of days about what had happened since Steve had disappeared in Salzburg—usually when they were alone, to spare Becky and his ma the nastier—or more classified—details.

Bucky continued with his tale of espionage, and it was quite a story. It sounded like something out of a movie, secret agents infiltrating a Nazi wizard's house during a party. Bucky seemed to enjoy telling the story, though when he got to the part about them breaking away and actually looking for Steve, he seemed a little unsure of where to go with it.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked.

Bucky sighed, and didn't say anything for a minute. "Okay," he said. "You know how I told you me and Peggy had to act like we were a couple to blend in to the party?"

Steve nodded. Zwart's potion was affecting his body, not his brain—if he was awake enough to absorb something he was told, he didn't have trouble remembering it.

"Okay, so, I don't know, maybe Peggy already told you this," Bucky said. "And I don't want…I don't want you to think I was trying to hide anything from you or anything, but I wanted to make sure you were awake and well and everything before we talked about it."

"Talked about what?"

"I kissed Peggy."

"Well, you were acting like a couple—"

"No," Bucky interrupted. "Like, I kissed her. A lot. The valet guy came in while we were in the study, and that was the only thing I could think to do to explain why we'd snuck so far away from the party. I—" He shrugged, not sure of what else to say.

Steve took a second to take that in. He'd known that, Peggy had told him, and he understood why. He didn't like it, sure, but, well, it was alright. It had saved their lives, and it hadn't meant anything. Steve knew that Peggy loved him, and he knew Bucky had no intention of trying to steal her away from him, and right now Bucky was sitting on the other bed looking like he was waiting for Steve to get up and punch him, and Steve smiled.

"It's alright, Buck," he said. "I'm not mad."

"You're not?"

Steve shook his head. "I mean, do I like the mental image of you making out with my girlfriend? Hell, no." Bucky grimaced, but Steve smiled at him. "But I'm not mad. It kept the two of you from getting killed, and, you know, I like you guys, so I'm glad." That got a huff of laughter from Bucky. "And it led to you saving my life, which, again, I'm fond of, so…" He shrugged and Bucky smiled.

"It's really okay, Buck," he assured him. He wasn't going to dwell on that image of the two of them together, and, yeah, it really was okay. "Thanks for telling me," he said. It would have been easy for Bucky to have just never said anything, but Steve appreciated the honesty.

Bucky nodded. "So, um, yeah," he said after a minute. "Then we found you. I'm guessing you remember that part?"

"Kinda," Steve allowed. "It's fuzzy." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Peggy stabbed a guy, didn't she?"

"Oh, yeah," Bucky said with a grin. "Among other things. I don't think she likes people hurting you any more than I do."

Steve chuckled at that.

"So, what happened?" Bucky asked. He made no attempt to hide his concern, and Steve knew he'd only waited this long to ask to make sure Steve was awake and well enough to tell him, and it had clearly been killing him.

Steve drew in a deep breath. This was the sucky part, talking it out. But he knew from experience he'd feel better when he was done. "I went down," he said. "There were too many of 'em. Then somebody hit me with a spell from too close for the suit to stop. It got real fuzzy after that. They got my helmet off sometime afterwards and hit me pretty good. I don't actually remember getting to Zwart's house."

He'd woken up with a pounding head, and it had taken him a minute to realize he was cuffed to a chair and that his uniform was gone. He'd felt uncomfortably exposed, sitting there in his shorts in the dark, no wand and no idea where he was. He'd been worried about his team. They clearly weren't there, but that didn't mean they were alright. He'd known it was a setup, but he hadn't known until Bucky and Peggy got him out that they'd only wanted him.

Zwart and the valet had come in, demanding information about the S.S.R.—players and locations and ops. Steve reckoned it must have been stuff the spy—who'd clearly arranged this whole thing—did not have access to. They'd taken blood too, a lot of it, in their ongoing attempt to recreate Erskine's formula. Steve had been worried about that, but was unable to do anything to stop it. They'd questioned him and hurt him when he hadn't complied, and Steve remembered fighting his way out of the chair at one point, and he was pretty sure he'd broken Zwart's nose before they got him with a Stunning spell. But that was when the drugs started.

They'd gotten a stronger chair, and they'd started off with potions and curses to see if that would make him talk. The Veritaserum, to their surprise and Steve's, had not worked, but he'd gotten spectacularly sick. They tried other potions, other curses, including the ImperiousCurse at one point, and he'd fought back or gotten sick again or blacked out or all three. He was feeling weak and shaky from the lack of food, lethargic from the loss of blood, and sick from all the potions, but he still fought as hard as he could. So, when they weren't questioning him, they'd stick that needle in his neck and set up that evil little clicking thing on the table, and he wouldn't be able to move or think.

"It was awful," he said softly, remembering. "There would be a moment, right as it all kicked in, where I could feel myself slipping away, and no matter how I tried, I couldn't get back." Bucky was on his bed now, an arm around Steve's shoulders, and Steve hadn't noticed when he got there, but he leaned his head down against Bucky's shoulder. "And it would all still be in me when they'd come to talk to me again—they never let it clear all the way out, and I was so scared I was going to break, to say something without meaning to. And it—" He swallowed hard, ashamed. "Whatever it was they were putting in me, it made everything hurt more, and I got more scared of them. 'Cause they kept hurting me and it hurt worse, and it was getting harder to fight them."

Bucky leaned his head against Steve's and looped an arm around him, his hand reaching up to rest in Steve's hair. "I'm sorry, Stevie," he said softly. "I'm so sorry." His voice was simultaneously filled with deep compassion—because he'd been where Steve had been—and the rolling fury that Steve used to hear all the time when he was little and Bucky found out people had been hurting him.

"You know what kept me going, though?" Steve asked.

"What?"

"I knew you were coming," he replied quietly. He hadn't needed to be saved—not like that—for a long time, but he'd known that he would be. And when he'd been scared and afraid he would break, he'd hung on to that. "Because I was in trouble, and I knew, wherever you were, you were gonna come get me out of it."

Bucky didn't say anything for a minute, and his voice was rough when he spoke. "I'll always find you, Stevie," he said at last.

"I know," Steve said. He might be the leader now, the big, strong Captain everyone looked to, but Bucky was the protector, the big brother even though he was only four months older than him, and he always would be. He was still Steve's rock, and that was never going to change.

"I'm sorry it took me so long," Bucky said softly.

"But you found me," Steve replied. That was all that mattered. Steve would always be able to hang on until Bucky got there. "That's the important part."

Bucky smiled and hugged him, and Steve felt really okay for the first time since coming home. Exhausted, sure. But okay. He was gonna be fine.

"How about," Bucky said, a teasing tone in his voice now as he sat up away from Steve. "You just quit getting yourself in trouble? It would make my job easier."

"Yeah, well, then you'd be bored," Steve countered with a grin, leaning back onto his pillows and shutting his eyes. He could feel sleep rolling forward from the back of his brain, and he figured he only had a minute or two.

Bucky cuffed him lightly on the shoulder, and Steve felt the mattress shift as Bucky got up and went back to his bed. "I'm sure I could find something else to do," Bucky replied. "There is a war on, after all."

Steve chuckled. "You can multitask. You're good."

"I am good," Bucky agreed. Steve heard the click of the lamp going off. "Goodnight, punk."

"Night, jerk," Steve replied happily.

Steve's gonna be okay, and he has a good family to look after him. A little more rest and recovery, and, of course, Bucky's 17th birthday, coming up before we get back to the action. See you Friday! I'd love to hear what you think so far!