The door opens and closes a few times. He's not sure who leaves, but he hears them come back, and water bottles are being set in his hands. His eyes are still closed, but he can hear what he thinks are granola bars being passed around. He can sense Steve beside him, not having moved a muscle for hours.

—

It's the small things at first that Bucky notices are off. Steve never used to walk around shirtless like the other soldiers. Now he does it anytime it's warm.

He eats all of his rations and asks for more food when he's finished.

Bucky walks up to him in a group around the fireplace and sees him smoking a cigarette.

"What are you doing?" He asks incredulously.

Steve stares at him confused, still having no memory of their friendship.

"Why are you smoking?" He asks again, a little harsher.

Steve's face sets in a frown and he glances around at all the soldiers sitting around the circle, most of whom have a cigarette between their lips.

"Why can't I?"

The question stops Bucky short. He doesn't have an answer. Smoking had been the bane of Steve's existence when he was little, it rattled his lungs like crazy, and after the serum he still couldn't stand them. The only thing that he can think is that smoking is so decidedly 'un-Steve' like, but that's not a good enough reason to say to a man who doesn't remember ever having been Steve.

He leaves shortly after, walking the perimeter of camp to clear his head.

—-

Bucky grits his teeth as Phillips clears Steve for active duty. Phillips only looks partly apologetic. Bucky is well aware that Captain America has been sorely missed on the battlefield. Rumors have already been circulating about his death to the enemy troops and they can't wait any longer to have him out in the field boosting morale.

—-

"Why do I have to wear this?" Steve asks, his eyebrows buried in his blonde hair.

"Because you're Captain America."

"I don't know who that is" He huffs, setting the colorful uniform down. "And if I'm being honest, that's a stupid name."

He watches as Peggy's eyes grow dark. She watched him earn that title by storming the factory to save over 400 men, and him casting it aside doesn't sit well with her.

"Steve." She says brusquely, "It's not about you. It's about the morale you will boost when they see you in it on the field. While you may not remember" her voice grows a tad icy. "You play an important role on the front lines."

Steve eyes the uniform. "So you're saying I'd be wearing it to help the other soldiers."

Peggy nods curtly and Steve sighs, "Okay." Something in Bucky is relieved that the thought of helping someone else still is a priority somewhere in Steve's mind.

Steve tugs his shirt over his head and begins stripping down. Peggy's eyes widen before she takes three quick steps and exits the tent. Bucky notices the quick exit and groans.

"Might want to wait till she leaves next time, Steve."

Steve's eyebrow quirks up as he tugs the undershirt on over his chest.

"Why?"

"It's kind of rude to undress in front of a lady."

Steve just shrugs, completely unbothered and Bucky huffs as he sits heavily on his cot.

"You sweet on her, right?" Steve asks.

The question catches him off guard and Bucky just stares at Steve, his mouth halfway open.

"I'll take that as a yes." Steve says grinning.

Bucky's mind snaps back into action. "What? Why would you think that!"

Steve looks briefly exasperated, "Come on, it's obvious. I see you two talking all the time. And you drew her. Maybe she can't see it when the tent is open, but I've seen it at night." He walks over, closes the tent flap, revealing the sketch of Peggy he'd done a few months back. He taps it with his finger. "She is a beautiful dame. Lucky you found a good one."

Bucky's chest feels tight and he can't stop staring at the sketch of Peggy.

"You…" He swallows. "You think I drew that?"

"Yeah, who else?"

You." Bucky snaps. Unable to control his anger, not at Steve but the situation. "Remember? I told you just a few weeks ago. You drew that. You drew all of these!" He gestures wildly to the myriad of pictures hanging from the canvas. "I'm not sweet on her, you are!" He halts. "Or were—" Steve's eyes are darkening in disbelief.

He stares at the pictures and his face changes. "I don't remember drawing these. And I don't remember you telling me that I did." He touches the edge of one of Denier talking to Jones around a campfire. "They're mine?"

"Yes." Bucky rasps out.

Steve looks at them for a moment longer, his eyes lingering on the one of his ma, standing at the kitchen sink throwing her head back in a laugh. Bucky allows himself the slightest sliver of hope that maybe, maybe he remembers that. But it's dashed as he hears a tearing sound. His head whips and he sees Steve tearing all the pictures down, one by one. Ripping the tops of the pages where they were safety-pinned to the canvas.

"Hey!" Bucky shouts, "what are you doing?"

"You said they're mine. I don't remember that. No point having them up."

Despair rips through him as he watches Steve systematically remove any reminders of who he was from their tent. He bites his tongue as Steve removes the picture of them two, around 15 years old, walking the boardwalk at Coney Island.

Steve's about to throw them in the tiny waste basket of their room, but Bucky lunges forward. "No!" He rips them out of Steve's grasp.

"No, I—" He stares at the face of his best friend, and he wishes in that moment that it was back when Steve lost his ma. Sad, terrible, heartbreaking, but still Steve. Not this empty shell of who Bucky remembers. "I'll take them. I can put them somewhere else."

Steve just shrugs and goes back to putting on his uniform.

He stiffly walks out of the tent, promptly spotting Peggy standing a few feet away from the tent.

Her face is as grim as his as her eyes catch the corner of the sketch Steve did of her. To her credit she doesn't react, just looks off into the distance and pretends to see something worth looking at.

—-

Suddenly his brain remembers something else, a memory that Hydra's chair had erased but now springs to the forefront of his mind. It pulls the memory back to another time without his permission.

"Before 30." He hears his ma whisper from their tiny kitchen. They'd come over when Bucky had called them to tell them that Steve had pneumonia again and needed the doctor. Steve lies asleep on his small bed, and Bucky is sitting in a chair, his head resting on top of his arms on the comforter.

"No. Surely it's not that grim." He hears his father respond quietly.

"The doctor says…" her voice catches and he can hear his pa pull her into an embrace. "With his weakened heart and lungs… if he beats this round of pneumonia, he'll be lucky to reach 30." He hears a sniffle. "Oh, Sarah would be devastated."

Bucky's eyes squeeze tighter. No. It can't be true. Steve's only 21, he can't die before he's 30, the doctor had to be wrong.

"Did the doctor tell him?" His pa asks.

"Of course he did. We can't keep that information from him!"

"Did Bucky hear?"

"No, he wasn't home from his shift yet. Steve asked me not to say anything."

"Surely he'll tell him."

"Knowing Steve… He won't want to worry Bucky." The sorrow in her voice makes his throat close and he almost sobs out loud. Hot tears trickle out of his eyes and he stares at his friend's sleeping form, uneasy and labored breathing the only other sound he can hear.

"He's stubborn, Winifred. Maybe he'll surprise us all."

"Oh, you should have seen his face." He hears his ma fully crying now. "It was like he knew it all along, so calm and accepting. He even thanked the doctor when he was leaving. I almost broke down right then." She cries and her voice gets muffled as she buries her face in George's shoulder.

Steve wakes up the next morning and says nothing about the dreaded prognosis. Bucky waits, he hopes that Steve will tell him, let him share some of the burden, but Steve stays as cheerful as he can be while confined to a bed.

Finally Bucky lets it go and sits down next to him.

"You need anything? Your sketchbook?" Steve coughs, long and hard, enough for his face to go red and it to activate his asthma. He spends the next few minutes frantically helping Steve sit up and raise his arms to get him breathing again. He finally takes a deep breath and settles a bit, face drawn and hands shaking.

Bucky remembers his ma's words, if he beats this round.

"You feeling okay, Steve?" He asks cautiously.

"I'm okay Buck."

"You want your sketchbook?

Steve's face darkens for only a moment, so quickly Bucky almost thinks it must have been a trick of the light. "No, I'm okay. I think the charcoal is aggravating my lungs actually."

Bucky leans back in surprise. Steve's never complained about that before. "Oh…" he looks around at the multitude of charcoal drawings surrounding them. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Maybe we can take them down for now?" Steve's eyes are shuttered and it's the first acknowledgement of how upset he is.

"Sure, Steve." He takes the ones Steve can't reach down, quickly placing them between pages so they don't smear. The room feels cold and empty when they're done.

"Anything else?"

Steve tries to look calm but his words come out a bit watery. "Maybe I should go through my clothes." He gestures at the small trunk he has. "Get rid of anything I don't need anymore." His facial expression is innocent but the realization of what is happening trickles down Bucky's back like ice water.

"We can go through your clothes when you're feeling well again. No need to rush to get rid of stuff." The anger in his face betrays him and Steve looks away guiltily.

"Bucky." He says, voice breaking.

"You're not dying, Steve."

"You don't know that, Buck."

"I do, actually."

"Okay." Steve snaps. "Maybe not today. But soon. I'd rather you not have to take care of all my affairs after I'm dead. I don't want that burden on you or your parents." The clinical way he says this has Bucky's blood boiling.

"So what? You just want me to get rid of all your stuff beforehand? Live in some kind of waiting period where you barely exist because you've given up!" He's harsher than he means to be and Steve's face goes blank.

Only the sound of Steve's hitched breathing can be heard.

"Steve." Bucky finally relents.

"I haven't given up." Steve says finally, a sharpness in his tone. "But I'm not going to pretend like it's not a possibility that I won't pull through this time. I'm trying to be pragmatic."

"Well, STOP." Bucky shouts, standing up. "I'd rather you spend your time living than preparing to die!"

Steve's cough returns and he struggles to suck in adequate air as his eyes start to water from the effort. His chest aches as he coughs over and over. He pulls out his handkerchief and wipes at his mouth, little bits of blood from his dry and cracked throat present.

He looks up at Bucky with weary eyes and his voice is barely a whisper as he says words that leave Bucky empty. "I wouldn't call this living, Buck."

—

Bucky sucks in air, reliving the memory as if it was happening in real time. He opens his eyes and they sting as the bright lights hit them after hours of watching memories.

Steve sits there, looking pale and shaken.

Natasha has moved and is sitting at Steve's feet, resting against his legs and her hand wrapped around his ankle in an attempt to ground him, he assumes.

Tony is laying on the ground, eyes on the ceiling. Bruce and Clint haven't moved.

"I didn't mean to show that last one." He says hoarsely. "Chair wiped that one, I just remembered it."

No one responds, still stuck in the memories. He finally leans over and catches Steve's attention. "So which is it?"

Steve can only be described as weary. "Which is what?"

"Why is there no artwork in your room?" He catches Natasha's eyes, and they widen at what he's implying. "Do you still not remember being an artist? Or is it that you don't want to allow yourself to get too comfortable? You didn't want artwork after your mom, it reminded you too much of her. You didn't want artwork in the army because you didn't know who you were. And you didn't want artwork when you found out you were dying, sooner rather than later. Every time you lost some semblance of 'home' you gave up on your art. Then I come here, and you don't have anything on your walls. No sketchbooks in your drawers. No doodles on your mission reports. You didn't even stop to see the artwork in the park." Bucky's voice is getting watery at the look of despair on Steve's face, but he doesn't stop. "You haven't made this place your home? Why?"

Steve screws the palms of his hands into his eyes. He watches Natasha lean closer and hold onto his legs tighter. Tony's watching Steve with a pained look and he can see Bruce taking deep breaths.

"Why, Steve? Why won't you make this place your home?"

Steve rips his hands away from his eyes and stares at him, wild. "Because who knows how long I'll get to live here!"

"Steve," Tony jumps in, "I'd never kick you out."

"No!" Shouts Steve, standing up, and stepping back from Natasha's grasp. "Not here as in the tower. Here as in this century." Bucky watches as Clint recoils from what Steve's implying.

"Steve." Bruce says, maintaining calm. "It's unlikely that—"

"Nothing's unlikely!" Steve rants, pointing at his chest. "I thought it couldn't get worse, and then I just watched myself die again. Before I'd even died the first time! Don't you get it! I'm never going to be able to rest!" He pulls at his hair, "I'll keep dying and waking up, with who knows what happened or how long time passed in between!" His voice grows mocking and a bit hysterical, "Why make a home when I'm always leaving it and the people I love behind?" His voice strangles, and he barely chokes out, "There's never been a home I've been allowed to keep." His face screws up in anguish and he bolts out the door, leaving them in shock, frozen in place.

—-

"Geez, Barnes." Is the first words he hears after a few minutes of silence. He looks up and Clint is staring at him, eyes tired.

"How long was that?"

Tony looks at his watch and calculates. "Going on 7 hours."

"Sorry," Bucky mumbled. "I just—" He looks at Natasha whose eyes are red. "I couldn't not show him."

She nods and looks at the ceiling. "When he was in the cuffs, getting shocked?" Her eyes screw closed. "I just felt awful all over again for my widow bites. No wonder he hates being shocked, even if he didn't remember it."

Bucky nods and hears a shaky breath come out of Tony.

"I'm never complaining about anything ever again."

"Can we get that in writing?" Clint quips.

"Cram it, Barton." Tony snaps, then he turns thoughtful. "I just, I get it now."

"Get what?"

"My dad, he never gave up. Never stopped searching for the plane. He probably knew Cap could have survived. I always thought he was crazy. But…"

"Your dad searched for him?"

"Yeah," Tony says ruefully. "He funded a search until the day he died. I always thought about cancelling the fund, I almost did, every year, but… I'm glad I didn't."

"Was Stark Industries the one who found him?"

"No." Tony says with an annoyed grimace. "But if I'd cancelled the search and then he was found? I would have felt like shit."

"What do we do for him?" Bruce asks, concern evident in his tone.

"What the hell can we do?" Clint retorts. "Steve's been treated like a literal punching bag and—" He stops, his face tilting to the side. "Wait, wait, wait. When did Steve come back?"

The group just stares at him.

"When did Steve come back. Like, when did he go from being robot soldier back to normal? You didn't show us that, just the part of him ripping down the art."

Bucky grimaces. 'It took a little bit, just over another month. It's… It's not pretty."

"You're saying that as if the other stuff you showed us was a walk in the park?"

"No, I—" he scrubs the back of his neck, "It's different. Steve wasn't himself, and he… He didn't even know he had the serum. It was—" He stops and wrinkles his nose. "If Steve is willing I can show you what I remember in the next session." His eyebrows furrow. "Dr. Raymond?"

"She left after hour 3, she said to let you continue." Bucky nods and they stand up.

"The doctor really said he was going to die before 30?" Clint inquires, stretching his arms out.

"Yeah."

"The history books don't even mention that."

"I don't think he told anyone, and I'm sure my parents wouldn't have either."

"Kid got the worst news in the world multiple times. How'd he get such rotten luck?" Tony asks, still laying on the floor.

"I swear I asked myself that question every time something terrible happened to him, or I pulled him out of a back alley fight. Never knew how someone so good could attract so much bad."

The group muses on that, replaying the memories they'd just watched.

"How did that punch to the face feel?" Clint asks, raising an eyebrow.

Bucky groans. "Oh, it was like being hit with a baseball bat. I never realized how easy he took it on us commandos while we were sparring until then."

"You think I could take the punch?" A hint of curiosity is in Clint's eyes and Bucky laughs, feeling a bit of release from all the tension.

"I think you'd regret asking." He noted. "And I doubt you could convince him to hit you full force."

Clint just hums and He catches Natasha watching him.

"What?"

'Are you going to go talk to him?" Natasha queries, lifting herself off the floor.

"I'll go see if he wants to talk to me."

"He shouldn't be alone." Bruce says firmly.

"Maybe I can convince him to come to the common room?" Natasha wonders.

"Let me go up, and I'll see if I can convince him."

—-

"Not now, Buck." Steve's voice admonishes before he even has a chance to knock on the door.

"Yes now, Steve." He replies, trying the handle and finding it locked. "You never lock your door."

"Take a hint maybe."

"Listen here, you little punk." Bucky groused. "You know I feel like shit having had to share those memories. I knew you didn't remember. I knew it and I still chose to show them, why? Because I know you. I knew something was wrong, and I couldn't just sit by and watch you pretend to live a life. But also, I couldn't bear if someone ever used those memories against you if I'd withheld them. How betrayed would you feel if you knew I'd kept that from you?"

Silence.

He sighs deeply and sinks to the floor, flexing the fingers of his metal arm.

"Steve, please." His voice warbles ever so slightly, "I'm sorry. Please don't be mad." He hears footsteps and the door opens. Steve stands there, eyes red-rimmed and jaw set tight.

"You think I'm mad at you?"

"Aren't you?"

Steve huffs and slides down to the floor, his long legs almost touching the other side of the hall.

"No, Buck. I'm not mad at you, I'm scared."

This takes Bucky by surprise. "Scared? Of what?"

"Do I ever get to die?"

"Steve..." Bucky cautions.

"No, listen." Steve leans his head back, resting it on the metal doorframe. "You showed me that I can't die from—" his voice cuts off and Bucky watches as he raises a hand to touch his temple. "So what? Is it get beheaded or old age? Except I age about 4 times slower than everyone else, and I slept for 70 years, so I'll die at what, almost 500 years old?"

His line of thought surprises Bucky. He'd never thought about it like that. He thinks for a moment before responding.

"Well, I may not last till 500, but I'll stick around as long as I can." The exasperated grin that spreads across Steve's face has Bucky smiling in earnest.

"How long do you think you'd live?" The true and sudden desperation in Steve's eyes throws him off.

"I— I don't know. I wasn't in ice for 70 years, but I was in cryo for most of the time… And I don't know if my serum holds up like yours, I'd guess it's a little weaker. Maybe to 350?" Steve's eyes close, and he looks somehow older and infinitely younger at the same time.

—

Steve politely refuses to join them in the common room, asking for a night to just process what he'd seen. Bucky doesn't press too hard, but he tells Steve to call if he needs anything.

They both know he won't.

—

When the elevator door lets him off on the common room floor, he sees 4 pairs of eyes latch into him.

"He's not coming." Bruce says, no question in his voice.

"No."

Clint sighs and Natasha huffs in distress.

"Anything we can do?"

"Besides going back in time and stopping him from getting the serum?"

A surprised choke from Tony has him turning towards the kitchen. He stands there, coffee cup in hand, staring at Bucky incredulously. "He said that?" He gapes, "he said he wished he hadn't taken it?"

"No.." Bucky clarifies, "But, maybe he thinks it." There's more silence than is comfortable.

"Well, we just need to convince him that it's a good thing." Tony says firmly, setting his coffee cup down on the counter.

"How do we do that?"

"We have to make him accept this place as his home first." Tony asserts. "Convince him that while we can't make any guarantees, it's highly unlikely for him to miss another century, so he needs to get with it. This is his home now. And FRIDAY?"

"Yes, boss?"

"Set a reminder. Add an indestructible tracker to everything Cap wears on a mission."

"Yes, boss."

Tony nods in thought and then looks at them. "Now there's no losing him." The firmness in his eyes has Bucky seeing Tony in a new light.

"We need to go out on missions. I know that when he's helping people he feels the most useful." Bruce interjects.

"That's true, but we shouldn't be reinforcing that he's only useful as Captain America or on missions. I had to learn that the hard way." She eyes Clint who grins broadly, she rolls her eyes.

"Okay, we need a code name." He thinks for a few seconds and then lights up. "Operation Oz, is a go." Clint beams, rubbing his hands together in mischievous glee.

Natasha's eyebrows furrow. "Why Operation Oz?"

Clint huffs at her and rolls his eyes in annoyance. "Isn't it obvious? There's no place like home."

—

* A/N - Never fret, we are not done with that particular memory. You will get to Steve return to himself and a bit more explanation of how Bucky and Peggy responded to the whole thing, the commandos too.

I hope you are enjoying reading as much as I am enjoying writing!