Potential trigger warning: Steve has a nightmare about what he did under the symbiote's control, and it spirals pretty far before Tony and Bucky can pull him out of it. I don't think it's any worse than Tony's nightmare in Age of Ultron, but if that's a no-go for you, you can skip ahead to the first break, where we shift to Clint's point of view.

Four days later, Steve jerked upright. His eyes snapped open to saucer-wide proportions, his breaths came so quickly his chest was starting to hurt, and his skin felt like someone had vacuum-packed it to his bones.

Nausea lurched in his stomach and he fought his way out of the tangle of bedsheets, barely making it to the bathroom before he began to retch.

When he was done, he crawled a shaky hand up the side of the toilet and depressed the plunger. In the same motion, he yanked on the lid of the toilet, sending it crashing into the bowl, and rested his sweaty head against it.

His nightmare chose that moment to replay itself on the backs of his closed eyelids. The symbiote was back, controlling his body, leaving him helpless. He was back on the roof of the Tower, fighting the rest of the team, except he wasn't stopping at unconsciousness. He'd snapped Sam's neck like the bones were made of paper. He'd shattered Natasha's skull with his shield. Clint, he'd thrown off the landing pad, and Bucky had a large gash from Steve's shield in his side. He was clutching it with both hands, gasping while blood dribbled out of the side of his mouth.

And Steve just sat there, watching, as the light drifted out of his once-friend's eyes and his hands fell slack.

Bodies rained down from the sky, landing next to his team: four members of the Secret Service and two advisors, broken and bleeding.

Steve ignored them.

He then turned to find Tony, without the suit, hands out in front of him, as if that was going to stop Steve. In one quick motion, Steve was on his feet, had dislocated both of Tony's wrists and was choking him to death with one hand. Tony didn't resist, which made it worse. And then he too went slack, and Steve was left as the only breathing Avenger on the landing pad.

Steve fumbled with the lid of the toilet and threw up again. And again. And again. Until he was sure there was nothing left for his body to expel. His side where Tony had blasted him burned with the violent heaving, so he pressed his palm to the wound in hopes the pressure would keep it from reopening.

He heard a sound outside his bathroom and threw himself as far away from the door as he could. That ended up being about a foot and a half as his back collided with the tub, but he didn't have the control required to climb into the tub itself.

"Sta' back!" he slurred as he pulled his hands in tight, so they couldn't do the damage of his nightmares.

"It's just me, Steve," a familiar voice—Tony—said.

"'m fine!" he panted. "Don't come in."

"JARVIS believes otherwise."

"Don't," Steve begged. He couldn't watch Tony die again, unable to do anything but watch as his hands tightened around his friend's throat. "Please."

"Steve, I can't leave you in there like this."

"I'm fine—'ll be fine." Even as he said it, dots were spotting his vision and his lungs were burning with a lack of oxygen. He heard a whining, then the door to his en suite bathroom at the Tower flew off its hinges. A flash of red caught the doorknob so the door only slid a few feet before Tony, in the helmet, gauntlets and lower leg attachments of the Iron Man suit, lowered it to the ground.

"Jesus, Steve," he breathed, quickly dropping to the ground beside Steve, who recoiled as far from Tony as he could.

"G'away," Steve begged again. "Please."

"I have the suit, Steve. You're not going to hurt me."

"Doesn't matter." Steve scuttled backward until his back was wedged in the corner between the tub and the wall. He held up his arms again to put some space between him and Tony. "Please, just go."

"Not until you calm down."

There was a racing set of footsteps, then Bucky was standing in the doorway, which no longer held a door. His face fractured as he took in the scene, then took a cautious step inside the room.

"Tell me one thing you see," Bucky ordered, his voice an indistinct blur in the throbbing in Steve's ears.

"G'away!" Steve's chest was really hurting now. His lungs burned. His head throbbed.

"Steve!"

Steve slowly looked over at Bucky, who crossed his arms over his chest and repeated, "Tell me one thing you see." His voice was steady and left no room for argument.

"You," Steve forced out between heaving inhales.

"Tell me another."

"Tony."

"Tell me something you feel."

Steve had to think about it for a long moment. He was kinda numb, almost lightheaded, but then he felt something digging into his back. "Tub."

"What's it feel like?"

"Cold." He hated being cold.

"What else?"

"Smooth." Or it would be, if his spine wasn't wedged in the corner.

Steve's breaths were coming slightly easier now and the blackness that had been encroaching on his vision was backing off.

"What's one thing you hear."

That one wasn't as bad. "Water. Through the pipes." Without being prompted, Steve added, "you both breathing."

At some point, someone must have flushed the toilet again and turned on the fan, for it was smelling less and less like Steve's sickness, which made it a lot easier to answer Bucky's next question about what he smelled.

Then Tony handed him a glass of water, which Steve accepted with shaky hands.

"You back with us?" Bucky asked, still planted in the far corner of the room.

Steve nodded, then unbidden, his eyes began to fill with unwanted tears. "What the hell is wrong with me?" he snapped as he pulled his sleeve over his hand and scrubbed at his face.

It had been like this for the past four days. His body just felt and did things without Steve's conscious input. He'd cried more over the past ninety-six hours than he had since waking up in 2012, most recently when he'd learned that Bucky had prayed for him in the hospital chapel and that Tony had willingly fixed Bucky's damaged arm. Randomly, Steve's limbs would jerk, shivers would race down his spine, and his head would be in blinding pain for one second, then completely fine the next. Sometimes he struggled to find the right words, other times his memory would just go blank, and had more than once been told he was speaking the wrong language. His balance wasn't great, which left him walking close to walls as he regained his equilibrium, and after finally being able to taste something other than sand for a small part of last week, food was back to being dull and unappetizing.

But somehow, he'd improved enough to be released from the hospital yesterday. Well, that wasn't entirely true. The doctors had wanted to keep him for longer, but the rest of the team had walked through every criteria they had laid out for Steve's release, and at the end, even they had had to admit Steve had passed all of them. He was scheduled for check-ups every two days and scans every two visits, but he'd agreed to all of it if he could just get out of there, and start trying to repair the damage the symbiote had done.

The team had told him repeatedly it wasn't his fault and deep down, Steve knew it, but it was hard to connect those points when all he saw was their injuries, healing slowly and normally. Sam was the worst and would be on sick leave for a long time. Steve avoided him the most because Sam couldn't hide how he was feeling, like the rest of the team could. Sam's bouts of dizziness and headaches were unknowingly painted on his face. Clint he avoided too, because it killed him to see his friend unable to talk because of something his hands had done. Natasha was easier, when she didn't have her knee brace—a reminder that she was on light duty until she passed the physical exam again. Tony and Bucky, Steve could spend time with in small doses, until his concentration slipped and he saw his hand wrapping around Tony's throat, or his fist crashing into Bucky's face. Which just left Bruce, who Steve hadn't interacted with much at all when the symbiote had taken over. If Bruce found this strange, he didn't say anything, and just made sure there were blankets and books on his couch in the lab for Steve to use while he sat there for hours on end.

"Permission to touch?" Bucky asked, snapping Steve back to the present.

Steve nodded, and Bucky's arms were wrapping around him, pulling him away from the cold tub and the smooth floor and into warm arms. He leaned into his friend, hearing Bucky's heart hammering beneath his soft Henley.

"There is nothing wrong with you, you hear me. Nothing."

"He's right," Tony said from somewhere behind Bucky.

Which really meant something because Steve could count on one hand the number of times Tony and Bucky had actively agreed.

"You just had something live in your brain for two weeks," Tony continued. "It's going to take a second to find your equilibrium again."

Then Tony's hand was on the arm not buried in Bucky's chest. It hesitated for a second, then began rubbing a path up and down, up and down.

"You're going to figure this out," Bucky said softly. "You're going to be okay."

At the moment, Steve felt anything but okay, but Bucky had said it with such conviction, that Steve allowed himself to believe it, even for the briefest of seconds.

Two days later, Clint was lounging on his bed, messing around on his phone, when he heard a knock on his door. He looked up to find Steve standing awkwardly in the open doorway.

"Hey," Clint signed as he slid his legs over the side of the bed. "You look better."

"I feel better," Steve said, but then he crossed his arms over his chest, casted one out in front, and hunched slightly, which expressed the exact opposite sentiment.

He did look better, though. He was steadier on his feet, was eating again—less than they'd all like, but apparently food was starting to have real taste again—and overall seemed to be in more control. He still didn't spend a lot of time with the team, but he ventured out of his room every now and again for meals, and last night for movie night, so Clint considered that a bonus.

"What can I do you for?" Clint signed as he stood up and walked over to Steve.

"How did you do it?" Steve asked, his voice painfully low, almost guilty.

Clint didn't have to be a genius to know what it was.

"I talked to someone," he replied. "And I listened to the people who told me it wasn't my fault."

In lieu of a response, Steve scrunched up his face and rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes.

Clint lifted his hands higher to signal JARVIS, who translated, "Headache?"

"Yeah," Steve said, before his face paled and he grabbed onto the door frame, cracking it slightly with his iron grip.

"Find Bruce!" Clint signed before reaching out and resting a hand on Steve's back, ready to help him to a chair.

He wasn't expecting Steve to fly out of his grip, shouting, "I'm fine!"

Clint froze, unsure of what to do next, while in the hallway, Steve's expression turned mortified.

"I'm so sorry," he said, stepping closer to Clint. And Clint couldn't help it, but he flinched.

Steve's eyes widened and he quickly plastered himself against the far side of the hallway. "I'm sorry," he stammered. "So sorry." Before Clint could say anything, Steve had sprinted out of sight.

Clint swore between the tiny gap the wires allowed him, then leaned over his bed and grabbed his phone.

He startled when he heard someone ask, "What happened?" from the doorway.

Clint scowled, stuck his phone under his arm, and signed, "Steve was here. Had a headache. Freaked out when I tried to help."

"We need to find him," Bruce said. Then, he stopped in the doorway and asked, "What else happened?"

It was then that Clint realized he was wearing a rather guilty expression. "He came toward me to apologize and I flinched."

"It's not your fault," Bruce was quick to say, yet somehow, he meant it.

Clint knew Bruce was right, but it hadn't made it any easier to watch Steve's horrified reaction.

"Call Bucky," Clint signed. "And JARVIS, find Steve!"

Bucky opened the door to the Tower's roof to find Steve sitting in the middle of the quinjet landing pad with his knees tucked up to his chest and his head buried in his arms. He'd been in the middle of a workout when he heard, and JARVIS had relayed the entire story while he traced Steve's steps through the Tower.

"Tell Clint it's not his fault," Bucky had said before jumping into the stairwell.

"He said to tell you he knows that, and he'd appreciate it if people stopped bringing it up," JARVIS had relayed.

Bucky hadn't spared the time to respond.

Steve didn't even look up as Bucky very loudly slammed the metal door. He wasn't sure if Steve was sleeping or zoned out, but wanted to be sure his friend knew he was here before he started approaching.

"I'm fine," Steve said thickly once Bucky was in earshot, but otherwise didn't turn around.

Bucky carefully took a seat beside Steve. "I see that," he replied, though his new vantage point showed that Steve was anything but. His eyes were red-rimmed and his expression utterly helpless, causing Bucky's resolve to have this conversation here, on the site of where everything went wrong, to waver.

"C'mon," Bucky said, holding out his hand as he stood again. "We're going out."

Steve's brow furrowed. "Buck, I'm really not in the mood."

"Do you trust me?"

Steve's lips disappeared into a thin line, but he did grab Bucky's outstretched hand and allow himself to be pulled to his feet. "Where are we going?"

"You'll find out."

The two took the elevator down to the parking garage in utter silence, and Steve hung back as Bucky pulled two helmets off the rack and held one out to Steve. A flicker of amusement crossed Steve's face but Bucky just shook the helmet.

"Nat would kill you," he added.

The corner of Steve's mouth lifted, but he took the helmet and clipped it on. Bucky then climbed on Steve's motorcycle and revved it to life. He waited until Steve had slid on behind him and wrapped his arms around Bucky's waist, before he accelerated out of the garage.

When Bucky had turned himself into the Avengers, he'd basically refused to leave the Tower until he was sure whatever had been done to him couldn't be used to hurt anyone else, ever again. The arrangement had suited him perfectly fine, but Steve ended up having other plans. One day, he'd convinced Bucky to leave the Tower and had taken him to Brooklyn Bridge Park, where he'd slowly but calmly informed Bucky that he couldn't stay locked up in the Tower for the rest of his life, and needed to start living again.

To take Steve there today would be a little on the nose. Besides, the conversation they needed to have required more privacy. And Bucky knew just the place that would afford them that.

Twenty-three silent minutes later, they backed into a parking space outside a hole-in-the-wall deli in Kensington.

"I'm really not hungry, Buck," Steve said as he climbed off the back of the motorcycle.

"Well, I am. And you better order something, because when you smell it, you'll want some, and you sure aren't stealing any of mine."

"Jimmy! You're back!" Esther, the elderly owner of the deli, cried as soon as they walked through the door.

Steve immediately looked over his shoulder, clearly expecting someone to have entered behind them. All the while, Bucky was keeping a mental clock of how long it took Steve to realize that Esther was referring to him, and not some random stranger.

Steve took a slow pan of the sparsely-filled room, not seeing anyone respond to Esther's greeting. Then, his gaze landed on Bucky and in that same second, realization struck. "You let her call you Jimmy?" he asked incredulously.

"You try reasoning with her," Bucky shot back as Esther began her slow shuffle around the counter toward them. "How's business today?"

If Esther heard his question, she chose not to answer it. "You're losing weight, Jimmy," she stated as she approached. "Can see it from all the way over here. Are they not feeding you enough in Manhattan?"

Steve actually snorted while Bucky just threw on a dramatic scowl. "I'm eating fine, Esther." He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. "It's this one you have to worry about."

The grin dropped off Steve's face in an instant as Esther turned her inquiring gaze to him. "I'm eating fine too," he was quick to protest, but Esther held up a hand for silence.

"I agree with Jimmy," she said after a moment. "You're too skinny." She turned back to Bucky. "It's a good thing you brought him here. There's still time to save him."

Bucky had to hold back a laugh at Steve's utterly baffled expression.

"Two of everything?" Esther then asked as she made her way back behind the counter.

"Corned beef for him," Bucky replied. "He doesn't like pastrami."

Esther looked over at Steve with faux disapproval, but then said, very seriously, "We'll try not to hold it against him."

While she wrote up their order and stretched up to stick it in the clip above the pass-through, Steve asked, "What's going on?" so softly that only Bucky could hear.

"You told me to get out, remember. This was one of the places I found."

Steve's expression faltered for a brief second.

"If you're about to make this speech about how you're honored to be here, you can skip it. Today is not about me." Then, Bucky added, "Though one day, we should probably have a serious discussion about how you don't seem to follow your own advice. All that fancy food Stark brings in pales in comparison to stuff like this."

To his surprise, Steve nodded. "I used to, you know. Go out, try new places, try new food. But then I started running missions for SHIELD and things got busy, and I guess…" he trailed off with a shrug. "…I guess I never got back to it."

Before Bucky could respond, Esther turned around, hauled herself into a high-seated chair in front of the cash register, and said, "You know, Jimmy, I was beginning to think your friend didn't exist."

"Well, he does. And he actually grew up not far from here."

Esther's eyes widened. "You did?"

Steve nodded. "Windsor Terrace."

By the time Esther had finished grilling Steve about his childhood, their food was done. She stuffed it into a handle-less brown bag along with two sides of homemade chips and a pair of black and white cookies that were larger than Bucky's hand.

Bucky held out his credit card, but she shook her head and batted it away. "No charge."

"Esther, we can't accept."

"You can and you will. It's my restaurant and I'm too old for you to be arguing with me." She then turned her attention to Steve, effectively cutting off any more argument from Bucky. "Just make sure you come back. Twice a week is guaranteed to have you filling out your suit again in no time at all."

Panic briefly passed over Steve's face before he found the ability to say, "It was nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Steve," she said with a knowing smile, before making a shooing motion with her hands. "Now get. You clearly have other places to be."

"I don't understand what just happened," Steve said as they walked out of the deli.

"I have friends outside of the Avengers," replied Bucky.

"No, I know. Well, I didn't know but I was hoping." Steve's mouth slipped closed while his brain furiously worked to comprehend what had happened. "She seems nice," he finally decided. "I'm happy for you."

"Thank you."

Bucky led Steve a few blocks away to a small park that was relatively empty. A few people seemed to recognize them, but didn't approach. They did wave though, which Bucky returned with his free hand, and Steve did as well, after Bucky elbowed him in the side.

They sat on a bench and unloaded the brown bag. Bucky immediately dug into his sandwich, but Steve just picked at his.

"Clint told me what happened," Bucky began once his sandwich was gone. It would be safe for them to talk in this park, or anywhere in this neighborhood really. It was mostly filled with the elderly or retirees, who had shown time and time again that they weren't intimidated by who he had been, but who also understood the value of privacy, even in a public setting like this. In addition, years of previous experience showed Bucky that it would be easier to get Steve to talk like this, when they weren't facing each other, and there were plenty of things in the vicinity to focus on or to distract his hands.

Steve continued picking at his sandwich, where he was accumulating quite the tower of crust fragments in the paper wrapping. "I figured it was him or JARVIS. Maybe both."

"So are we going to talk about it?" Bucky asked after another long moment.

"Only if you really want to."

"I do." After a brief pause, Bucky added, "But if you don't want to talk about it with me, that's fine. But you have to talk to someone."

Steve looked over at Bucky and one corner of his mouth quirked upward. "You drag me all the way down here, then tell me I don't have to talk to you?"

Bucky shrugged. "I was craving a pastrami sandwich and you needed to get out. It's a win/win even if you don't say anything."

Steve nodded absently as he looked back to the park where an elderly couple was walking a dog across the green space. A few very long moments later, he softly asked, "Was it ever this bad… for you?"

"Worse."

Steve looked over at him in surprise.

"You remember everything," Bucky explained. "I still have gaps. I have no idea who I hurt or what I did."

Steve swallowed hard. "How did you get over it?"

"You know. You were there."

"I was, but it doesn't seem to be helping now."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Bucky snorted. That was typical Steve, wanting a lightning fast solution for himself, so he could get back out there, instead of taking the time to process and heal… Then again, that was true for almost everyone in the Tower, so maybe it wasn't all that unique to Steve after all.

"What did you always tell me?" Bucky prompted.

"To give it time. To give yourself a chance to heal," Steve recited listlessly.

"How is this any different?"

Steve's expression soured. "It's not." Then after a beat, he added, "Wish it was."

He wasn't the first one to think it. Bucky would take this from Steve in an instant if he could. He unfortunately had lots of practice with the unknown, and handling what he'd done under someone else's orders.

"Tell me something that's better," he said after a moment.

Steve scowled at Bucky. "Don't start that again. I'm—"

"Tell me something that's better."

Steve was quiet for a long time, then he replied, "My hands shake less."

"Something else."

"Food tastes better. Well, some of it."

"One more thing."

"I get it, Buck," Steve said unhappily. "I'm getting better."

"Then what's all this about?"

"It's been gone for almost ten days, and I still feel like this." Steve looked down as if to indicate his general mood. "And now Fury's wondering when I'll be back—"

"What?"

Steve nodded. "He called today. Asked how I was first. Waited a whole five minutes before throwing that out there."

"And what'd you tell him?"

"I can't, yet. Can't risk it."

"Steve, it's gone. I promise. You can't just lock yourself up for forever."

"I know," Steve said softly. "But I'm not ready."

That was fair enough, and since that was the longest conversation they'd had since the night before the doctor's visit, Bucky was ready to drop the subject for the day.

But then, Steve went on to say, "And Garcetti's assistant called me."

"What did they want?" Bucky asked, expecting it to be some PR call with little to no substance.

"He wants us to give a statement together," Steve said slowly, "to prove I'm not dead, and to show the world that I didn't try to kill him."

For a brief moment, Bucky saw red. That was a lot for a healthy person to deal with, let alone one who had been put through the physical and emotional wringer for the past three weeks. "Goddammit, Steve. Is my phone broken?"

A few feet away, a flock of birds rustled into flight, startled by his deep growl. The elderly couple looked over in concern, but Bucky threw on the widest grin he could manage and motioned that it was all under control; they didn't look totally convinced but they did continue their walk.

When Bucky turned back to Steve, he was staring intently at the ground and toeing at a leaf. "You guys are going through enough," he then said, as if that explained everything.

"That doesn't mean you don't tell me! This is important." Bucky waited for Steve to continue, and when he didn't, Bucky asked, "What are you going to do?"

Steve looked up from the ground, but his eyes didn't quite make it to Bucky's face. "I have to do it, I think," he said. "I've seen the news and the awful things people are saying about me, especially because I haven't been seen outside in almost three weeks, except for… you know."

"Have you talked to Tony?"

Steve shook his head. "I can't get past the bruises on his throat."

God, Steve. And for the second time this hour, Bucky wished there was a way he could take this all from Steve, who deserved a lot better than this shitty hand he'd been dealt.

"You need to talk to him," was all Bucky said. "He can help you with this." To emphasize his point, he reached out and grabbed Steve's arm. "I'm serious, Steve. Don't agree to anything until you've talked to Tony."

"Buck—"

"Promise me. It doesn't have to be in person, but you have to talk to him."

Steve stared at Bucky for a long moment. "Okay, I promise."

Bucky released Steve's arm. "Good."

"But not today."

Every part of Bucky was screaming for Steve to do exactly that. To talk to Tony right now and come up with a game plan for how Steve was going to handle Garcetti and the rabid wolves otherwise known as the paparazzi. But then he saw how worn out Steve was, and how his friend was barely holding it together, even after unloading so much.

"Okay, Steve," Bucky said. Then he scooted over so he could wrap his arm around Steve's shoulders. "But tomorrow."

Steve shrugged.

"Tomorrow," Bucky repeated, emphasizing his point by tapping on Steve's shoulder with each syllable.

Steve made a face, but after a long moment, he nodded. "Okay, Buck. I'll ask him tomorrow."

This didn't fit the mood of the chapter, but on the way back to the bike, Steve is going to reminisce about how Clayton Foster tried to call Bucky "Jimmy" in the 5th grade and Bucky almost broke his nose. Bucky is going to shove him lightly (because Steve's balance isn't totally ready for quick movements yet) and their banter will digress from there.

Thanks for reading! Just one more chapter to go!

(Also, if anyone is interested, I have an idea for a 5+1-esque one-shot about how Esther comes to "adopt" the rest of the Avengers that I'll be working on after this. And yes, to totally mix interests here, at some point Bucky is going to order a pastrami on rye, causing Esther's grandson who is working the counter to quip if Bucky wants that with a sour pickle; upon finding out that Bucky had no idea what her grandson was referring to, Esther gets her grandson to set Bucky and Steve up with a bootleg of the original Newsies cast, and, well, I still need to write how that's going to end up. I hope you'll join me for that little adventure too!)