Steve sat down at the table, trying not to show how close he was to tears.
Bucky hadn't changed. He was still taking care of Steve.
As kids, when Steve had been down with an asthma attack, Bucky had watched over him when Steve's mom was at work.
And later, on the streets of Brooklyn and the battlefields of Europe, Bucky had always had his back.
No, whatever had happened to his friend over the last century, whatever he'd done, Bucky hadn't changed, not in the important things.
He was still Bucky. And Steve would damn well have his back.