He wakes up to the fuzzy bleariness that only comes with being heavily medicated. It's a rare enough feeling, since with Hydra he had generally burned through sedatives rather quickly, so for a while, he just lets himself drift, enjoying the clean white lines of the ceiling above him.

It's only when he gradually becomes aware of the quiet sounds of someone breathing next to him that he blinks and starts to think back to why he's laying in a bed heavily medicated. He turns his head to follow the sound of the breathing, and experiences a half-second flare of alarm when part of him expects to feel a wave of pain at the movement. None comes though, and he's left to flick his eyes over Steve, sitting in a chair to his right.

The memory of pain reminds him that he had been hurting not that long ago, but currently both his arms feel rather detached and ethereal, so he doesn't worry about it much, instead swallowing and focusing on how Steve's hair contrasts with the white wall behind him. Yellow and white. Or would it be gold? The light kind of makes it look gold— His eyes jump to Steve's face as his friend leans forward, a gentle smile on his face.

"Hey," he says, his eyes glancing over him. "Glad to see you're awake."

His words register, but feel strangely removed from him, so Bucky doesn't answer, instead dropping his eyes down as he notices for the first time the IV line running from his right hand up to a bag above the bed. Steve follows his gaze too and shifts in his seat, crossing one leg over the other.

"We'll call Bruce down to deal with that now that you're awake," he says. "Tony says he thinks he fixed the problem, so you shouldn't be in any pain anymore."

Bucky nods slowly, his head feeling both too heavy and too light, so that moving it seems to threaten both the possibility of it rolling off, and flying away. He gets distracted away from thoughts of balloon-heads because his eyes catch on a blue curtain that hangs on the other side of his bed, and he finds himself completely mesmerized by the way the folds of the curtain casts shadows on itself, making the blue look darker in certain places.

He glances away only when he hears the sound of someone else coming into the room, and his eyes glance over a man with glasses and unruly hair for a moment before he finally recognises him to be Bruce. "Hey Bucky," he says, offering him a gentle smile. "I'm just going to get you off of the rest of the drugs, okay?"

Bucky nods, his head continuing to bob in a combination of too light and too heavy. Bruce smiles at that and Bucky can't help thinking how nice it is that people smile at him so much now. He'd smile back, but he isn't exactly sure if his mouth is working, so instead he just watches Bruce as he moves to clamp off his IV line. Once the line is dealt with, Bruce disappears for a moment to wash his hands, before returning and putting on a pair of gloves.

"This shouldn't hurt too much," he says as he walks him through the removal of the catheter. Bucky doesn't even flinch as it comes out— he's had plenty of worse removals by Hydra agents— and Bruce carefully wraps his hand before giving it a final pat. "I'll come and check on you again once the drugs have worn some more," he says.

Steve stays sitting next to his bed after Bruce leaves, and Bucky can't help the feeling when he looks over at him that he's supposed to be embarrassed about something, but he can't seem to remember why. He's busy staring at Steve, trying to figure out what it is, when his friend leans towards him.

"Do you want some water?" He asks, and Bucky swallows, only just now realising how dry his throat is.

He opens his mouth to say yes— only to immediately close it again because for some reason the word 'no' rises in his throat— as if his mind and voice aren't exactly connected, and he very much does want water, so he keeps his lips pressed together for a few seconds until he is certain that his brain has the right word. "Yes," he says finally, his eyes following Steve as he stands up and steps away for a moment before returning with a small plastic cup of water.

"Do you think you can handle it?" He asks as Bucky laboriously works on pushing himself up into a sitting position. "Or do you need a straw?"

"I don't know," he says bluntly as he reaches for the cup. Steve seems to find this amusing, and he hands over the cup carefully, keeping an eye on him in case he needs to intervene. Thankfully Bucky manages well enough, although his arms do seem strangely long, and his mouth doesn't quite seem to be where he thinks it is. He finishes with minimal spilling though, and eventually hands the cup back to Steve.

By the time Bruce comes back to check him over, Bucky's brain is decidedly less foggy, and he's able to answer his questions without much trouble. "How's your arm feeling?" Bruce asks afterwards, and all their eyes get drawn to his metal limb as he lifts it and rolls his shoulder experimentally.

It moves slowly, without a hint of pain, and he relaxes at that. "Feels good," he says, turning to Bruce. "Did you figure out what was wrong with it?"

Bruce reaches up to adjust his glasses and nods. "Tony will probably want to talk to you more about it," he says. "But if I understand correctly what he said, your arm pretty much had the same problem his robots get. Wear and tear basically. He made some minor adjustments so that it wasn't seized anymore, and he cleaned it out a little." He shrugs. "From what he said, it sounds like this can be avoided with regular—"

"Maintenance," Bucky cuts in, feeling drained, and a little ridiculous that he hadn't realised that this would be a problem. Of course his arm needs maintenance, he used to get maintenance on it all the time. Except, of course, those maintenance sessions had usually been done after a mission, and he isn't going on missions right now, and it hadn't occurred to him to schedule his own maintenance sessions because he isn't used to thinking about that sort of thing. Usually his handler takes care of that.

A flush rises on his cheeks as he looks over at Steve and remembers suddenly how he had accidentally slipped into mentally thinking of him as his handler again as his arm had screamed in pain. Steve is, of course, not his handler, and had only been his handler for a short amount of time, it probably hadn't occurred to him either that Bucky would need regular maintenance.

"I'll talk to Stark," he mumbles, looking back at Bruce. "I forgot my arm needed maintenance."

The corners of Bruce's mouth lift up as he smiles at him. "Well, it seems rather obvious now, but none of us thought of it either," he says, and Bucky's mouth twitches a little in a flicker of a smile. A part of him is a little surprised that no one seems upset with him that he hadn't thought to warn them of this, but he's pretty sure that is his Asset brain thinking, so he tries to ignore it.

Bruce leaves him with a few general reminders of aftercare, and to call him if there are any problems, before he clears him from med-bay and gets up to leave. Bucky watches him go before pushing away from the pillows behind him and carefully beginning to pull the blanket away from his legs.

"Bucky…"

He looks up and Steve's gaze doesn't quite meet his eyes. His hands still on his blankets as he looks at Steve, suddenly unsure what to expect with the sudden tension in the air. Steve shifts a little in the chair in front of him and flicks his eyes to him, his hands flexing from where they're clasped in his lap. "Buck," he says again. "I… I feel like I should apologize."

Bucky blinks at him, and Steve's mouth twists slightly, his eyes flicking down again. "When you were in pain and we were trying to help you, I used one of your trigger words," he says quietly, and Bucky's eyes widen slightly as he figures out where the conversation is going. In front of him, Steve's jaw clenches and he sucks in a breath through his nose. "I'm sorry," he continues. "I didn't really ask if that was okay, and I should've. I want you to know that I won't ever use that again unless you ask me to."

His eyes meet Bucky's at the end of his sentence, and Bucky is suddenly 100% certain that Steve had been thinking about this probably since the second the trigger word had left his mouth. For his part, Bucky hadn't really had time to think about how he feels about being triggered, and he can see why Steve would be worried— the trigger words are inherently coercive after all— but Bucky finds that he doesn't really feel upset about it.

"Steve," he says quietly, holding Steve's gaze. "I don't think I can describe the amount of pain I was in. I was honestly glad to pass out." Steve's mouth twists and Bucky knows that his argument still isn't enough to convince him.

"I still did it without asking," Steve says stubbornly, and Bucky huffs out a breath through his nose.

He shakes his head. "There wasn't time."

"I know, but—"

"Steve," he says, forcing his friend to stop talking and listen to him. "I know you would never use that word without a good reason." He offers him a small half-smile. "When you said it, you were acting as my friend. Not my Handler."

No matter what his brain might have been thinking at the time, which is something he's going to have to deal with later, right now Steve is looking relieved and relaxing as he smiles back at him. "You have my permission to say it if something like this ever happens again," Bucky tells him as he finally moves to push himself off the bed.

"I hope I never have to do that again," Steve says vehemently, standing up to follow him out of the med-bay. Bucky smiles at that and stops to stand outside of the elevator, looking down as he flexes his right hand. He can probably take the bandage off soon.

Steve stands beside him and they both ride the elevator up to their floor. He is suddenly reminded as he steps off, that he has a room of his own now, and he tenses slightly at the thought. The incident with his arm hadn't given him much of a chance to get used to the idea, and he'd been unconsciously expecting to go to Steve's room like usual, so the change is a little jarring.

Steve invites him to his room for lunch though (and Bucky can't help wondering if the offer is spontaneous, or if his heartbeat is tattling on him again). He accepts, following Steve to his room and removing his redundant bandage as Steve figures out what they will eat. He ends up pulling out a mountain of bread and toppings for them to make sandwiches, telling him as he does so that he'd finished putting in the drawers of his dresser while Bucky had been recovering in med-bay.

"I hope you don't mind," he says, as they begin assembling the first of their many sandwiches. "I kind of needed something to do."

Bucky smiles at that and assures him it's fine. In all honesty, knowing Steve had been in his room makes the place feel a little less intimidating for some reason.

"That reminds me," Steve says as they make a few more sandwiches and Bucky internally realises that Steve might have invited him over for a reason besides sensing his discomfort — his room is empty, he hasn't actually stocked it up with food yet. And that's… that is something people have to do when they have rooms of their own.

"I saw your laptop and phone again," Steve continues, distracting him away from questions about how and what kind of food he should buy. "If you want, we could go through them and get you set up."

Bucky swallows and pushes away the thought of food for now, nodding gratefully at the offer. Hydra may have trained him how to hack into things, but he doesn't actually know how to set stuff up like a normal person.

After lunch he goes and gets his phone and laptop, and he and Steve spend the rest of the afternoon laboriously making email accounts and phone accounts and other such accounts that seem to be required in order to use technology. Bucky eventually has to get one of his notebooks to write down all his new passwords in, just to avoid the risk of forgetting anything.

"Oh," Steve says eventually, while they're looking over the app that displays his phone account and bills. "I wonder if you still have a bank account… I did when I woke up."

Bucky blinks, because he hadn't actually thought about money much, but now that he needs to do things like order food and maybe buy things for himself, it is probably a good thing to be familiar with.

JARVIS informs them that he does in fact have a bank account, and he had never been officially declared dead, so his army wages have just been slowly accumulating in it over the years. Once he and Steve manage to get access to it (he suspects JARVIS has a hand in helping them with that) and he sees how much he actually has in there, he can't help being a little shocked.

"That's a lot, right?" He says, turning to Steve. He can't exactly remember much about his financial past, but he's pretty sure that that many digits are impressive.

Steve's mouth splits into a grin. "Yeah," he says simply. "I was pretty shocked too when I saw my account waking up." He shrugs. "'Course, things are a lot more expensive too now, you know. So that takes some getting used to…" He looks down at the account numbers again. "But between this and living in the Tower, you probably don't have to worry, even if you never work again."

The idea of working – at all – throws him a little, because he hadn't really thought of that possibility before, but he mostly ignores the idea for now as Steve walks him through online banking and online shopping, as well as ordering a bank card for him.

"JARVIS can help you with this stuff too, of course," he says. "I find it's easier to use him most of the time."

Bucky thinks back to the empty shelves in his kitchen that he's now going to have to fill, and he looks over at Steve. "Is that how you buy food?" He asks, because he's beginning to realise that being a person holds a lot of unforeseen responsibilities. He'd been busy worrying about using the right names for himself and getting used to having a room, and he hadn't even thought about bank accounts and shopping trips and probably a whole host of other important things.

His question is seemingly a good one, because Steve lights up. "Oh yeah," he says. "He's really great for that. I had a hard time with eating enough food before— you know, with the amount of calories we need—" Bucky actually hadn't known, but he doesn't get a chance to say anything because Steve continues. "But JARVIS can order the right amount, or tell you how much of something you need to eat. I found it really helpful after a while."

Bucky can only nod, and try to ignore the part of his brain that is busy trying to freak out over the thought of Steve not eating enough food. Obviously things are fine now, and he hadn't exactly been in a position to notice anything wrong before, so there is no point in getting upset over it now.

He tries to let it go as Steve shows him the basic apps on his phone and introduces him to the pros and cons of social media. "I don't really have an account on any of them," he says. "But people use them to keep in touch with people, or to keep informed, or to just…" He shrugs. "Well, sometimes they just want somewhere to rant honestly. It's a lot like newspapers used to be actually. People used to take out little sections to complain about spring weather and the youth and such."

He grins at that and Bucky can't help grinning back. He can't remember newspapers like Steve had mentioned, but he wouldn't be surprised to see that people haven't changed that much over the years.

Once they're finished setting up his phone and laptop, Bucky comes to the realisation that he doesn't have any more excuses to stay in Steve's room (and out of his own.) Steve had said, of course, that his door is always open… but Bucky is probably going to have to go actually stay in his room today, which is still a vaguely uncomfortable idea.

If I want to get used to being Bucky, I'm going to have to get used to the room, he thinks stubbornly, trying not to think back to the fact that he'd accidentally started thinking of Steve as his handler not even a day ago. He needs to get better at this sort of thing if he wants to go see his sister.

To that end, he eventually packs up his things and sees himself out of Steve's room. The walk down the hallway seems unusually long, and he ends up standing for several minutes in the threshold of his room, just staring at all his space.

He thinks back to when he had first been brought to the Tower and he'd thought he was going to be sent to a cell. The thought makes him huff in amusement and shake his head, unrooting him from his spot in the entryway. His past self had simply been shocked at being allowed to sleep on Steve's couch, something like having his own room would have been unthinkable.

It's happening now though, and he makes his way deeper inside, setting his phone and laptop down on the kitchen counter and looking around for a moment before tentatively moving on to ask JARVIS about ordering groceries. He needs something for supper after all.

He tries to ignore how large and silent the rooms are around him when he's not talking to JARVIS.

oOo

He slowly gets used to his room. It still feels weird of course, but it is nice to have his own space and be able to have his own stuff. He displays the picture Steve had drawn of him on top of his dresser now because he can, and he finds it relaxing to have a 'safe space' so to speak. No matter how comfortable he is with Steve or the other Avengers, there is still a deep part of his Hydra training that is worried about offending them somehow. He doesn't have to worry about that inside his room though.

He tries not to hide away too much in it though, because that also feels weird and he slowly eases into the idea of seeking out his own enjoyment. The Avengers are generally open to spending time with him, which helps, even if he can't stop thinking about what Steve had said about PTSD every time he sees Sam.

He doesn't feel ready yet to broach that topic with him, but that leaves him with no excuse when it comes to seeing Stark about his arm. He knows he needs to do it, if only to make sure his arm is fully functional, but every time he thinks about it, his stomach clenches with nerves, leaving him feeling nauseous.

He doesn't actually think he's afraid of Stark, they seem to be at an understanding, but he doesn't think he has a single fond memory of maintenance. Even his first session with Stark had been tainted with terror, even though nothing bad or painful had happened.

He ends up not having much of a choice either way, because a few days after the incident with his arm, Stark ends up calling him down to the lab himself, and Bucky can't come up with a good enough reason to refuse.

He tries to breathe in evenly as he heads down to the labs because he knows nothing bad is going to happen, Stark has always been very careful with his arm. Even so, his brain hasn't quite forgotten the pain his arm had been in a few days ago, and he finds himself rolling his shoulder joint a few more times than necessary, his mind convinced that some kind of pain should be there, despite having taken Bruce's medication.

The elevator doors open, and he sucks in a breath before finally exiting and letting himself into Stark's lab. The man himself is sitting at one of the metal tables looking at something on a tablet and he gives him a little wave as Bucky comes in, his eyes still mostly focused on the device in his hands.

A squeal cuts through the air, and Bucky is distracted by an onslaught of happy robots as DUM-E and U rush over to him. He finds himself relaxing slightly as he pats the two bots and navigates his way over to Stark's table, the excited machines following him like an adoring crowd.

By the time he makes it over to the table, Stark has set aside his tablet and is looking distinctly amused by DUM-E and U's antics. "I'm beginning to think you'll have to come visit them more often," he says easily, his eyebrow quirked as he watches Bucky sit down on a stool across from him. "They seem taken with you."

The comment helps relax him even further and Bucky lets himself smile slightly. "Well, I might have to," he says with a shrug. "Depending on what you think of my arm."

Stark's eyes light up a little at that and he leans forward. "Right," he says, reaching with one hand to pull his discarded tablet closer. He clicks it on and swipes around on it for a few moments before turning it around to face Bucky, the screen now showing a 3D blueprint of his metal arm. "I was thinking we should probably do something so that our latest medical emergency never happens again."

Bucky nods and swallows, unconsciously moving to lift his metal arm so that it's resting on the table beside him, the muscles in his back tensing. "Was there anything really wrong with it?" He asks.

In front of him, Stark shrugs, looking down at the tablet. "Nothing broken or anything," he says, before shaking his head. "To put it bluntly, I don't think it was designed to be user friendly." He looks up at him. "The way it is now, it's not designed for someone to be able to manage by themselves."

Bucky presses his lips together and curls his right hand into a fist in his lap. "Makes sense," he says shortly. He doubts Hydra would have wanted their asset to be able to maintain himself.

Stark gives him a sharp nod and taps his finger on the table. "That, plus how heavy it is, and the invasive way it's connected…" He waves a hand over Bucky. "I mean, I can always look after it for you, but I'm thinking it'd just be better to replace the whole thing and start over with something better."

Bucky's mouth feels dry as he swallows, and his arm on the table suddenly feels far away. "You can do that?" He asks.

Stark shrugs. "Well, not me personally," he says. "I'd definitely help design the new arm, and then we'd find some qualified doctors to do the surgery."

Bucky nods mutely and listens as Stark begins to outline his basic plans for a new arm. For some reason the idea hadn't occurred to him before. Oh, he can remember vaguely sitting in terror when Stark had mentioned it before, a day or so after he had come to the Tower, but he'd been the Asset then, and once the idea had been dropped he'd ignored it for more important things.

But now it's here again, and he understands why. His metal arm is Hydra's, designed to be a weapon, something to kill people with. It's unwieldly and heavy and not designed for him to actually be able to live with. It makes sense to replace it— part of him actually wants to replace it, change it into something of his choice— but he can't help the crawling anxiety that twists in his chest and spurs his heart along as he thinks about the last time he had been given an arm.

Hydra had given it to him, he knows that for sure now, and they'd tried to keep him sedated, but of course it had only worked so well, and he'd been half-conscious for the whole thing— until he'd eventually passed out from the pain— and then he'd woken up, and that thing had been attached to him, and they were trying to figure out if it worked and—

his shoulder burns trying to lift it, his nerve endings crying out as he flexes his fingers. His right hand, he can feel, but his left hand, the metal one, he can't— he can see it moving, following his commands, but— but he can't feel a thing. The fingers move like some kind of alien creature attached to him. A cold, heavy alien that hangs off his shoulder like a poisonous leech, straining his neck and shortening his breath as he tries to breathe through his new-found pain.

He looks up, and one of the "doctors" is stepping up to him, a clipboard in hand as he comes over to check his work, to determine whether the surgery had been a success— Anger surges through him with a sudden crushing force, and he lifts the hated, metal atrocity, ignoring the pain that shoots up his shoulder as he wraps his hand around the doctor's neck and squeezes—

"–arnes? Bucky? Hey."

He blinks, and flinches, because there is something by his face, and before he can think, his arm is flying up to bat it away. It's his right arm that raises – because his left is still glued to the table – and it stings as he hits something hard.

The brief pain is enough to shock him further into reality and he turns his head to see DUM-E next to him, his metal claw outstretched towards him. He blinks and stares, his head still feeling slightly fuzzy as he tries to figure out what is going on. He hears the sound of breathing near him and his head darts towards it.

Stark is there, of course. For a second he had forgotten about him, but the man is sitting across from him, his chair pushed back a few inches as he watches him carefully. His eyes flick down to his arm for a second before he glances back up at him. "You alright?" He asks evenly.

Bucky finds his eyes dropping down to his arm as well and he sees that his left hand has formed a fist, a few new, deep scratches on the table where his hand had been resting. He breathes in and his chest feels rather tight. "Yeah." He swallows. "Yeah I—" His words choke off and he blinks several times because he suddenly feels quite lightheaded, and he finds his left hand uncurling and pressing down onto the table in an effort to keep upright.

He's aware of Stark's eyes on him, but he can't seem to take his gaze off his metal arm, memories from his flashback of his absolute hatred for it flooding his brain. Without thinking his right arm comes up to his left collarbone and he tugs at his shirt, his skin crawling because he wants it off and he—

claws at the metal junction in his shoulder. It hurts but he doesn't care. It hurts and it's heavy and he wants it off right now and it hurts All The Time

"Woah, Barnes— Bucky? Bucky!"

He blinks and sucks in a breath, his eyes sweeping up to focus on Stark, who's suddenly standing up from his chair, his hands out placatingly. His face is pale and tense, and he flicks his eyes over him, seemingly frozen with tension.

"Look," he says slowly. "Maybe we should save this for another day. Do you want me to call Stev—?"

"I want it off," Bucky cuts in, and Stark darts his eyes from his face to his collarbone and back again, his tongue darting out anxiously to lick his lips. Bucky blinks and looks down, his eyes focusing on the fingertips of his right hand that are now frozen in the act of digging into his shoulder.

He swallows and pulls his hand away, Stark watching him as he sets his hand on his lap and breathes in a few times, trying to calm himself. He hadn't broken skin. That is good, at least. Right?

Stark watches him for a moment before sinking back down into his chair, his hand coming up for a second to rub at the centre of his chest. His eyes glance over him and Bucky breathes in slowly again, trying to seem settled. In front of him, Stark swallows, his thumb still rubbing over his chest. "I won't be able to take it off right away," he says quietly, his eyes on Bucky. "But we can get started on the design."

Bucky swallows and nods stiffly, Stark seeming to relax a little at his continued lucidity. "I was of course thinking of making it lighter," he continues, the fingers of his other hand tapping for a second on the table next to his tablet. "And if you want, we could make it detachable—"

"Yes," Bucky agrees immediately, sitting up. "And not— not a weapon this time. Not a weapon."

"Done," Stark says instantly.

oOo

He makes it through the other minor details that Stark needs to get started on the designs, and he skirts around DUM-E as he leaves, wincing slightly as he remembers how he'd lashed out at the robot during his flashback.

He thinks back to the scratches he'd made on the table— and the Hydra doctor he'd apparently choked— and he shivers. So far he's never hurt anyone during his flashbacks but— but Stark had been right there, and he'd hit DUM-E— and if— if Stark had been closer— if he hadn't woken up in time— if he'd—

The image of Howard, his nose broken and bloody in front of him, flashes through his mind and he swallows down a wave of nausea. No. No. He must make sure something like that never happens.

He sucks in a shaky breath and sets his jaw. His flashbacks are dangerous, that is obvious now, and judging from what Steve had said… in order to help manage his flashbacks… It looks like… it looks like he's going to have to talk to Sam sooner than he wants.


AN: So Bucky woke up and was thankfully not the Asset. It was fun writing his waking up scenes, the bit with the water and him almost saying no is a direct memory from me, except I actually DID say no, to a popsicle no less, and I have no idea why. I very much meant to say yes XD

But now Bucky has to address his arm, and he's in a place to make decisions about it and process what it is to him and what Hydra did to him.

I will be away camping so I won't be able to respond to any comments until I get back, but I will be posting my next chapter on Wednesday like usual. (I've noticed for that they do not seem to send out emails for PMs anymore. If you haven't been getting my replies, then you might have to log into your account on your computer and look in your inbox that way. Also, I can't reply if you have disable PMs.)