It's 3AM and I've been re-reading this thing for hours so I really hope I didn't miss anything. If I did, sleep deprivation is my excuse. Hope this is okay!

'When will I feel this

As vivid as it truly is?

Fall in love in a single touch

And fall apart when it hurts too much'

Chapter 2: Fall apart when it hurts too much

The next morning Steve checks his porch and the food he'd left lays untouched.

"What if something's happened? What if he's hurt?" He tells Sam over the phone. He's still on the porch, pacing and throwing glances at the offending sandwich.

"You don't know that. Steve, you don't even know if it was him. You ever heard of raccoons?"

"A raccoon wouldn't have taken clothes." Steve argues.

"Then a homeless person, or a neighbor's kid. It could have been anyone."

"Sam-"

"I'm just saying, there's no reason to panic. And if it is him and he sees you call in the cavalry, then what?"

"I know." Steve finally pauses his frantic pacing. "I know, you're right. I just-" He sighs.

"I know, Steve." Sam says. "Look, you're doing everything you can. He's lucky to have you, even if he doesn't know it yet. But it's up to him too."

"But what if I'm doing this wrong? What if I scared him away?" Steve finally voices his fears. He'd thought the TV was a good idea - give Bucky the chance to come closer, even spend time with Steve without having to actually come out of hiding. But now he's not so sure. He's been careful with the movie selections too - Disney had seemed like a safe option thanks to its general lack of violence, and Steve could still remember dragging Bucky to the cinema when Snow White first came out in 1937. But maybe Bucky saw something Steve had missed? Or maybe he thought Steve was pushing him to come out? And maybe, Steve thinks with a groan now, that's exactly what he's been doing.

"Steve?" Sam's voice is raised, Steve realizes he must have been calling for a while.

"Sorry, I'm here. I was just thinking about what could have spooked him."

"Don't do that to yourself, man. You're not a therapist, neither of us is actually equipped to deal with this. I don't know if anyone is. If something did set him off, you had no way of knowing that."

"Do you think… he'll come back?"

There's a pause. "Maybe."

Steve sighs. Maybe I should go look for him, he doesn't say, because he knows what Sam's reaction would be. "Okay. I'll wait. Maybe you're right and this doesn't mean anything. Maybe he'll be back tonight." Steve tries to channel some of that optimism he doesn't feel.

"Exactly." Sam agrees. "And anyway, you can't expect him to stake out your house 24/7. Just, try to get some actual sleep, okay?"

"I'll try." Steve agrees for Sam's sake.

That evening Steve doesn't turn the TV on, instead he leaves out some packaged food and goes to bed early. Not to sleep, he doesn't expect that, but to give Bucky more time to come back without worrying about Steve hovering near.

As days begin to pass Steve grows increasingly more restless. There's still no sign of Bucky and somehow knowing his friend had been so close and then Steve messed it up is worse than the initial search after the helicarriers. He thinks about never seeing Bucky again, of the helicarriers being the last time they ever spoke, if it could be called that. Steve had still been reeling then, but he'd done everything he could think of to reach his friend inside the Winter Soldier, had been ready to die trying.

He still is.

The day after leaving the Target's house the Soldier wanders around the city, directionless. The urge to flee has somewhat receded since he's left Brooklyn, and he decides not to abandon New York just yet. The first night he finds a rundown factory to sleep in. He assesses that it must not have been used in at least ten years, which makes the chance of detection low. He's left the sleeping bag in his cover, so he huddles in the black hoodie and spends the night on the floor. He only sleeps for two hours but decides not to move until morning, partly because daytime makes it easier to blend in, and partly because he still has no clear direction.

In the end, it's a good place to lay low, so the Soldier stays for three more days before deciding he can't risk staying in one place this long. Somehow, being away from Brooklyn makes the Soldier warier of being found, which admittedly doesn't make sense.

On the fourth day, the Soldier is back on the streets. The sun is beginning to set, and the Soldier decides to keep an eye out for alleyways that can serve as a good base for the night. He's eyeing one with interest when there is noise, and the Soldier draws his gun. He's prepared for Hydra, unsuspecting police, or even the Target, but instead a man emerges and ducks into a side street, stumbling and catching himself with a deep grunt. Assessment: intoxicated. In an instant the Soldier is against the wall, inching closer until he can see the first man and then two others sharing a bottle of clear liquid. Note: three individuals. Threat level: 1. The Soldier lowers his gun, is already stepping away. He will need to find a different place for tonight, somewhere with fewer people and better cov-

A whine, long and desperate and full of – this is something the Soldier recognizes easily – pain. The men laugh. "Not so tough now, are ya?" One slurs. There's the sound of something being kicked and another drawn-out whine. The Soldier inches back towards the street and looks around the corner, past the men, and oh- it's a dog.

"I have an idea." One of the men says suddenly, and he pulls a lighter from his pocket. The dog whimpers and tries to scramble away, but there is a spiked collar that digs into its neck, the short-chain secured to a lamppost. The men seem to think this is especially funny, and they laugh so hard the one with the lighter loses his footing and the flame goes out.

"Go for the tail!" the other one says, but lighter-man is struggling to get the flame back on. "Damn thing." He curses loudly, not caring who might hear.

The Soldier stares at this scene numbly. There's something building up inside, but there is no mission, no orders, and so he stands and he stares. And then lighter-man gets the flame back on with a satisfied aha and reaches for the dog's tail. The animal growls and almost takes the man's finger off, and the Soldier feels a pang of something akin to satisfaction. Fight, he thinks, don't just take it, fight. But then the third man swings hard enough to knock the dog to its side.

The Soldier's fists clench. Lighter-man makes another move for the tail. The Soldier steps out of the shadows.

After, the Soldier is back in the old factory, scrubbing his metal arm with a wet cloth. He's methodical about it but eventually his eyes trail to the corner and he gives up the task. He stands, approaches, and spends a minute analyzing the animal huddled in the corner. Subject: German Shepard. Approximately 1 year old, male. Injuries: bruises, cuts, and sprains. Possible internal injuries. The Soldier had carried the injured, unresponsive dog back to the factory. He hadn't given it thought then, it'd just seemed like the only course of action. But now the animal is awake and staring at him, and the Soldier can only think to stare back. His eyes catch on the collar and something in the Soldier balks at the sight, he'd ripped the chain off but hadn't thought about getting rid of the offending object around the animal's neck. He goes to grab it now, but the dog bares its teeth in a silent challenge, and the Soldier's hand hovers and falls back to his side. He doesn't care if the dog bites him, but he steps back anyway.

He understands chains, and bruises, and unwelcome touch. But how does he show himself to not be a threat? Note: disarming is a gesture of nonhostile intentions. But an animal isn't going to understand that. What else is there?

He goes back to his bag and digs a hotdog out from the back. He'd bought it that morning in a half-hearted effort at keeping up with his body's needs, and then completely forgotten it. Now he separates the sausage from the bun and the salad and settles down on the ground a few steps away from the dog. He throws the dog the sausage and eats the rest himself.

He must be tired because the next thing the Soldier knows he's waking up with a wild, desperate gasp, body tense for a fight that is not there. But there was a fight once, and a fall, and pain-

Something wet and warm is nudging the Soldier's leg. For a moment it startles him, but then he sees the dog, still with that goddamn collar that must be digging into its flesh with every move, looking up at him with big eyes and nuzzling his leg with its nose. Something about the sight drags the fight out of the Soldier's body. He raises his flesh arm, slow and unsure, and rests it atop the dog's head. He thinks about the act of petting an animal – how it's a thing that people do, and dogs seem to enjoy – and moves his fingers experimentally. He wonders if he's doing it right, but then the dog nudges its head deeper into the Soldier's hand, just a little bit. There's a deep, untouchable tension inside the Soldier and he only becomes aware of it as it uncoils.

The Soldier slowly hooks metal fingers under the collar. The dog doesn't react. He breaks the clasp.

The next morning the dog is looking healthier, and the Soldier feels an unexpected pull of relief. He thinks about leaving, but the dog is still limping badly, and the Soldier can just see more stumbling drunks finding it here, or the dog limping out into traffic. He can stay, he decides, just a little longer. He remembers food only because the dog keeps sniffing his backpack where the hotdog had been. Reluctantly, the Soldier leaves the dog behind and walks to a nearby grocery store where he buys a bag of sausages, a plastic bowl, and two big bottles of water with the money the Target had given him. When he returns the dog's stare is almost accusing, but its tail starts to wag. The Soldier opens the bag and gives the dog three sausages, then pours some of the water in the bowl and sets that down. When the dog digs in the Soldier decides to do the same and eats a couple of the cold sausages.

When that's done the Soldier settles down by a broken window, which gives him a good vantage point of the only road to the factory. He tries to focus on that and not the animal, but it's difficult. He keeps thinking about the way he'd stepped in when those men were hurting the dog, even though that wasn't a mission, and brought him no real benefit. At least with the Target, the Soldier can rationalize that pulling him out had ensured the opportunity to find answers. But this one is different – there was no reason, yet he did it. Would probably do it again.

There's shuffling and the Soldier turns to see the dog limping towards him. The animal settles by his side, turns its head as if studying him, or asking a question. The Soldier has a sudden thought that he is being judged, and he answers with a half-hearted shrug. I don't know what I'm doing either. Somehow the thought doesn't bother him nearly as much as it did a day ago.

The Soldier wakes with a gasp. It's not unusual but for once he's instantly alert and he realizes it's not his own traitorous head pulling him from sleep, but the dog nudging his arm with urgency. He frowns. The dog turns to the door, sniffing loudly. Understanding, the Soldier is on his feet in an instant. He creeps to the window, sees a car parked on the road and two figures moving through the darkness. He can fight, but they're an unknown. Retreat is better.

The Soldier grabs his bag and silently makes his way to the back of the building, satisfied when he sees the dog follow. He looks out the back window, lingers because the dog is slowed by the limp. Once it finally catches up the Soldier makes a move to grab the dog but it flinches away, teeth bared. The Soldier freezes, glances at the door, and notes that the intruders are still outside. Threat level: potentially high. Note: the dog is a liability. Going on instinct, he gets on one knee and holds both hands out, palms up. Empty. Next, he flips the flesh one around and reaches for the dog's head, breathing out with relief when the dog allows it. He rubs the fur, trying to mimic his movements from last night. He does this until he counts to five, then holds his breath, wraps the metal arm around the dog, and stands. He slips out the window, sets the dog down, and then they're running into the cover of the trees.

The Soldier finds refuge in a forest just outside the city. The thought that he's been found makes him restless. He's been careful, but he's also acted recklessly more than once. He can't risk going back to the city now. Maybe he could go with the original plan and leave the country? Although doing so discreetly would be a lot more difficult now that he has the dog-

No. He doesn't have the dog. Of course he doesn't have a dog. The Soldier is merely staying with the animal for the time being. Once the dog stops limping, he will leave. Then he will travel to Europe, somewhere where it's easier to disappear. Mission: retreat.

He looks at the dog now, sniffing a pile of fallen leaves. Every once in a while, its ears twist straight up, hearing something even the Winter Soldier can't. At one point a wild rabbit runs by, and the dog jumps to its feet and stares, body tense with the sort of excitement the Soldier's seen in others during missions – a hunt. But then it looks at the Soldier and settles back down. Surprised, the Soldier considers it might be the limp stopping it. Then again, the dog hadn't been slowed that much on the way here. The Soldier doesn't know much about dogs, but he thinks this one is a bit odd. There's the hint of something akin to pride in the thought. He reaches out, no longer hesitant in his movements as he pets the soft fur.

After laying low for two days the Soldier makes his way back into the city, the dog behind him. The first thing he does is buy food, mostly for the dog's sake. He has to leave the dog outside when he goes into the store, and when he comes out, he finds it leaning forward, making itself appear larger against a woman with two shopping bags. The Soldier steps up, scans the woman for weapons or signs of threat, but her hands are shaking so badly it's a miracle she still has a grip on those bags, and she's stepping away instead of forward.

"Easy, there." She's saying over and over. Threat level: 2. Subject unarmed. He thinks, there must be a reason the dog perceives a threat. Except, there isn't.

One of the bags slips out of the woman's hands and she makes the mistake of trying to grab it. A dozen wrinkles adorn the dog's muzzle, its weight shifts-

Realizing what's about to happen, the Soldier steps between the woman and the dog.

"Oh god," She sobs. "I think it's rabid."

The Soldier holds out both hands, palms up. He gets on one knee, twists and reaches forward with the flesh one, watches the dog's eyes focus on him as it sniffs his skin. Relaxing, the Soldier pats the dog's head. He twists to glance at the frozen woman and waves his hand in a way he hopes will be interpreted as dismissal.

After the incident, they make their way towards a nearby park. Now that he knows to look for it, the Soldier can see the way the dog either shies away from or bares its teeth at anyone who gets too close. Caution is smart, but he has the odd thought that the dog doesn't do it because all those people, even the children, are dangerous. It's some sort of a response to being beaten by those men, a conditioning to see threats that are not there.

The Soldier is still thinking about it as he settles down behind a line of trees, where he still has a good view of the main paths but is obscured by the branches himself. The dog lays beside him. At least the leg seems better today, the limp mostly gone. Improvement means the Soldier can move on with his plans, travel far away from this city where so many things tug at his mind, the dog that's made him reckless, the Target. Will he go looking for the Soldier again? Will he… worry?

Note: worry is an emotion. Sometimes the Soldier's handlers would worry about the missions, or the Soldier's own stability once he lashed out. Their worry had come with guns and the chair. But, the Soldier thinks, the worry he's thinking about now is different. But when he tries to think of an example, nothing comes to mind.

He supposes worry could be food left on a porch every night without fail. But why? Why do all that for him? To set a trap? That was what he'd thought originally, and it had made sense- does make sense. It's the only explanation the Soldier can identify.

Or, that strange small voice in the Soldier's head speaks up, maybe he's trying to help you?

Help. The Soldier toys with the word. The handlers sometimes sent help on particularly difficult missions. They provided help by fixing his arm after a fight.

'I'm going to help you.' Zola says and he's holding a syringe, and a doctor is lowering a saw to what's left of his arm-

There's something warm and soft under his flesh arm and the Soldier gasps out of the memory, stares at nothing as he tries to get hold of his heavy breathing. But then the soft thing nudges him, and some sort of instinct or habit takes hold and makes him dig careful fingers into the fur and start moving them in soothing motions.

The Soldier leans against the tree behind him, suddenly heavy and exhausted. The dog shifts closer and rests its head atop the Soldier's leg. He looks at it – dirty fur streaked with dried blood, probably hungry, considering how rarely the soldier remembers the existence of food, violent and mistrustful – and yet still here by the Soldier's side. The Soldier could count the number of decisions he's made on the metal hand, but he looks at the dog now and he decides to stay.

Later that night the Soldier stays up, trying to figure out a new course of action. He could take the dog to Europe, but it would be hard, especially considering the aggression it's shown to others. That sort of thing raises attention, and attention is something the Soldier can't afford. He could continue as he has, going from one place to another every few days, but is that… good? Can it last? He's gotten away from his handlers before, Mission: New York, 1991. Target: Senator P. Thomas. He can't remember much, but he knows he didn't last a week then. Now he has the advantage of Hydra being up in flames, but how long before they're recovered enough to go after him? The Soldier shudders and waves off the dog's curious eyes.

It's not like he has an alternative. Maybe, if the Soldier asked for it, the Target would – he struggles with the word - help. Maybe the blonde man could make sense of the world, and maybe he wouldn't involve the people that have been coming in and out of his house. Maybe they wouldn't lock the Soldier in a cage, or put him in the cold, or eliminate him despite the threat and enemy he's proven himself to be.

He wouldn't-

But how can the Soldier expect that, when he has nothing to give them in return? He's not useful to them the way he was to Hydra. All this false kindness is just that, and he knows it.

But he wouldn't do that to you. Steve wouldn't-

They think he can be tricked, like a civilian. Like a person. They think he craves their security. Him approaching the Target is just what they want.

He said I'm not going to fight you. He said you're my-

"Shut up!" The Soldier yells suddenly and the words come out hoarse and his throat burns. It's the first time he's spoken in almost six months, he realizes then. And it shouldn't bother him, he's gone longer than that. Can barely remember saying a word at all before the man on the bridge.

But for some reason it's different now, and the realization makes something in the Soldier twist. The dog is staring at him, startled. He brings a shaky hand to its head. Breathes.

Help is stepping in for a beaten dog when no one told him he had to. It's doing the same for a kid picking fights with guys twice his size, and that's worry too, because what if I'm not around to protect you?

The Soldier stands, motions for the dog to follow. They leave the park in darkness, and the Soldier knows where to go.

It takes them a day to reach Brooklyn. It's nighttime when they arrive, and the Soldier inspects his old hideout across the street from the Target's house, satisfied to see it undisturbed. He motions for the dog to stay but it tries to follow, and the Soldier must push it back to the spot twice before it seems to catch on. He circles the house three times after that, searching for any sign of ambush, but the house is dark and nothing's out of place. Finally, the Soldier uses the railing to climb to the porch without having to take the main stairs.

A simple store-bought sandwich lays on a plate on the ground. Huh. The Soldier counts the days he's been gone – almost two weeks. And the Target still leaves food. Assessment: …there is no logical assessment at this time.

He picks up the sandwich and goes back to the dog.

It's been almost two weeks since any sign from Bucky and Steve is slowly losing it. Sam keeps insisting on patience, but Steve doesn't know how to sit and wait for a problem to solve itself. That was never Steve, even before the serum. He's promised himself to wait out the full two weeks, but is already talking to Natasha about possible leads, and asking Tony to look through surveillance footage. And then one morning he goes to check on the porch and the sandwich he left is gone. Steve gapes at the empty space, wonders if maybe he forgot to leave it last night, but there's hope building in his chest. Thank God, he thinks, you came back to me, oh thank God.

He calls Sam, who warns him not to get his hopes up. Then Natasha, who wants to come check the area out – an idea Steve barely manages to talk her out of.

"What did you need when you were recovering from what they did to you?" He asks eventually, hoping he hasn't pushed too far.

There's a long pause. "Patience," She says finally. "a chance."

So, Steve latches on to that. As worried as he is that something about his tactics had scared Bucky off, he's come back and maybe that means something. So, Steve lingers by the windows where he can easily be seen, restarts movie nights. One day, he picks up a notepad and pencil, drags a chair to the porch and does something he hasn't since waking up in the wrong century. He draws. At first, it's hard - he's out of practice, out of patience, out of the things that once made him look at the world and want to capture it on paper. The first sketch is a shaky outline of New York in flames and he frowns and tears it up. The second is a circus monkey because maybe something he's done before could be easier, but there's no emotion in it so Steve throws that drawing in the trash too. Finally, he decides to stop thinking and just draw, and his fingers begin sketching out the Winter Soldier. He draws Bucky as he was the first time Steve saw him on the bridge, that single moment of conflict in otherwise blank eyes. Steve doesn't draw more than an outline of his friend's form, but he focuses on the eyes, tries to capture that look he prays was more than Steve's imagination. He likes that sketch. Steve leaves it under the plate of food he leaves out that night, and the next day it's gone. That's day three since Bucky's been watching him again and Steve is happy, but he wonders if he will ever get to physically see his friend again. If he did, Steve promises himself, that would be enough. He doesn't need to have his Bucky back as long as whoever his friend is now is okay. Steve repeats this a few more times. After all, he's Captain America, and he's not supposed to be selfish.

That night Steve picks Snow White to watch again. He turns the sound up, settles on the couch, and spends half the movie fighting the urge to glance at the window behind him. Poor Snow White is in the middle of accepting the apple when Steve hears something behind him, a thud so quiet Steve has to wonder if he imagined it. It could be anything, but Steve is practically vibrating with nervous energy and it's too much, even for Captain America. Torturously slowly Steve turns his head, just enough to glance-

Oh God, it's Bucky. Inside the room.

So there's a dog now. The thing is, Bucky started out in such a bad place in this fic that he absolutely needed someone to nudge him along in the recovery, and then plot bunnies brought an equally traumatized dog. I felt awful writing the scene where they were hurting the dog, but they did get what they deserved in the end. It's still murder, but it's not like Bucky is in the kind of headspace where he can think to use less drastic measures.

Oh and he spoke! It only took 8k words haha. If you haven't guessed from the tags, I'm sticking to the super silent Bucky version from CA:WS. In my version it's a sort of selective muteness and it's going to be a running theme throughout the fic.

Next update coming on Wednesday? Maybe Thursday. Not later than that. If you liked this please let me know, I'd love to hear your thoughts :)