4. Do You Hear Me Now?

Breakfast was almost ready when Bucky and Sam appeared. Sam looked as upbeat as he always did, and Bucky looked… different. It was hard to identify; he didn't want to say he looked hopeful, but there was certainly a different air about him. Steve wondered what they had been talking about. He was sure Sam had sent him away so he could talk to Bucky.

"That smells great," Sam said, making himself comfortable at the bar. Bucky hung back, not speaking, seeming lost in thought. It wasn't like when he was lost in memories, though. That was probably an improvement. He nodded thanks at Sam, who nodded almost imperceptibly back.

"Bacon and eggs are the best way to start off a day, especially if the night wasn't so good before," Steve said as he served up the meal.

The men ate in silence. Steve was reminded of the numerous times he had eaten rations in barracks over the course of the war. Taking a break from duty to eat was serious business, and there was rarely much conversation in the mess hall, at least until most of the food was gone. It was nice to have Sam there. It made it easier not to watch Bucky so closely, not to worry over him. He'd always hated being worried over, by his mother, by Bucky's mother. Bucky hadn't ever worried over him, just looked out for him with a sort of confident bravado that made it impossible to feel like pity drove Bucky's actions. He hoped he could do the same, now that it was Bucky who needed the help.

Bucky was still standing. He hadn't sat down to eat. He looked dead on his feet from exhaustion. Steve wondered again if he'd slept at all in the last seventy years. He didn't know anything about cryofreezing, but it wouldn't surprise him if it hadn't been particularly restful. HYDRA was unlikely to be concerned with Bucky's health unless it was going to affect a mission. And, if his memories were returning every time he slept now…

"Do you want to try to get some sleep, James?" he asked.

Bucky glanced up at him sharply, his blue eyes focusing on his coldly, defensively. The look passed quickly, fortunately, and he nodded slowly. "Yeah… Maybe I'll be too tired to dream anything," he mumbled.

Steve smiled grimly, not sure if his friend expected to be heard. "We'll be out here if you need anything." Bucky walked slowly out of the room, giving a sketchy wave with his metal hand before disappearing around the corner.

"So, are you going to fill me in on what happened?" Sam asked as soon as Bucky was (probably) out of earshot.

Steve shrugged, getting to his feet to deal with the dishes. "I came home a couple days ago and he was waiting in my room. Scared me half to death," he admitted.

Sam looked in the direction Bucky had gone and gave a short laugh. "Yeah, I can imagine that could have been a nasty surprise."

"I don't know how he got in. He told me he knew me, and that he remembered some things. I think he was, is, pretty confused from what they did to him. I got him to go to sleep in my room without really trying, and go back to sleep just by suggesting it when he woke up from a violent nightmare. It was pretty disturbing, seeing him so docile and obedient." He didn't know if it was worse than seeing him as the Winter Soldier, but it was bad.

Sam shook his head. "He's a killing machine out there. I mean, he used a grappling gun no bigger than a garage door opener to hook me and pulled me to the ground just like he was coiling up a damn vacuum cord. I am not surprised they had to condition him to be nice and suggestible when he came in," he said, his tone disdainful.

Sighing, Steve leaned on the counter to look at his friend. "Do you think he can come back?"

"I don't know, man. He doesn't know if he wants to," Sam said gently.

"He said that?" Steve asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep the anxiety from his voice.

"Not exactly. He said he'd died for you, and they took that from him. Steve, they took all his choices from him. He doesn't know he's a person. He doesn't know how to be."

"It's coming back," Steve said, but he could hear how his tone rose at the end uncertainly.

"I don't know," Sam repeated. "He's got amnesia, he's got PTSD, he's got whatever you're going through, Rip Van Winkle syndrome or some shit, culture shock. It's a lot. I have no idea how he can keep getting up in the morning."

"Not going to bed probably helps," Steve muttered, staring intently at the counter in front of him. What could he do to help his friend?

"Look, Steve, I know it's pretty damn great that he recognized you before he killed you," Sam began.

"He rescued me," Steve interrupted vehemently.

"Yeah, I know. That's great, too. More than we really had reason to hope for. And it's really cool that he snuck in here somehow because he remembered you. But we need to be careful about what we expect him to be able to do," Sam cautioned him. "Some of it may never come back."

Steve sighed, letting the air out slowly as he leaned heavily on the granite surface in front of him. "I can't let him fall again," he said quietly.

"It's not your fault, Steve," Sam told him sharply. He came around the counter and put a comforting hand on Steve's shoulder. "You did everything you could."

He was strongly reminded of Peggy. That's what she had said, too, when he had been trying to drink away the pain of losing Bucky the first time. This time, it was worse. He hadn't just lost Bucky. Bucky had been taken, and tortured, and lost his humanity, all to become a weapon to be used against Steve.

"I should have just stayed in Brooklyn and worked at a damn factory," he said, his voice steady again.

"Shut up, Steve. Then HYDRA would have succeeded in 1945."

Steve nodded slowly. It was worth this, all of this, to save the world from HYDRA. Losing Bucky, seeing Bucky lost, losing everyone and everything he knew… That was still better than seeing the world swallowed up by the horrors that would have resulted if he hadn't been there to stop that plane.

"And Loki might have succeeded, if there were only three Avengers," Sam continued.

"I get it," Steve said softly. He cleared his throat, standing up straight. "I always wanted to serve. I knew the risks." That was false, of course. Never in his worst nightmares had he imagined what people might do to his best friend. He'd asked Bucky to follow him into the jaws of death, not into whatever this hell was. "What do you think we can do to help him?"

Sam considered, folding his arms over his chest. "Has he had any bad reactions to things? Been startled and reacted violently?"

"Well, he attacked Natasha when she surprised us in the kitchen. He didn't do that when you came by, though," he said thoughtfully. "I can tell he's always stressed, and wakes up screaming most of the time. He trashed his room when he was upset about … one of the missions."

"Did he tell you which one?"

Steve swallowed. "Yeah." Sam looked at him expectantly. "He was the reason Howard and his wife had a car accident," he said quietly.

Sam looked blank for a moment, then it registered. "Howard Stark. You knew him, right?"

"Yeah, during the war."

"Did he?"

"Yeah, they met a few times. They weren't particularly close, but it sure upset him when he woke. He was also opposed to staying here, because it's Tony's place," he added.

"He was? That's good, man, that's definitely progress," Sam told him, looking almost cheerful.

"Why?" Steve asked, surprised.

"Because I don't think HYDRA wanted him to care about his missions. To feel bad when he steps on someone's toes. So, if he's worried about Tony not wanting him here because of what happened to his parents, that is some real empathy. Now, I mean, with the empathy will probably come a lot of regret, but it's the only way he can move on from who he was for the last seventy years."

Steve smiled, releasing some of the tension he'd been holding onto ever since he first saw Bucky on that bridge. "So he might be okay?"

Sam shrugged, but smiled, too. "I hope so, Cap."