Chapter 4: The Thread

When Sam Wilson strolled into his living room on a sunny, chipper Sunday, the last thing he expected was for someone to be there. Sometimes Steve would come by without notice if something was urgent, but it was more likely that he would just join him and lap him in his morning jog. He had just come back from that, and this wasn't Steve. However, he did know who it was.

Before the questions in Sam's mind reached their completion, Natasha Romanov came into his view from the side of the room. She looked at him with her famously intent gaze and whispered, "Trust me." Sam glanced behind her at the dark figure sitting rigid on the end on his couch, staring intently at the blank TV screen. The Winter Soldier was in Sam's house. Well, his body was there, but no one really knew where his mind was.

Sam raised his eyebrows and shrugged. As he turned back into the kitchen, Natasha followed him. "I guess that makes searching for him easier. How long has he been here?"

"I found him wandering around Chicago yesterday. He freaked out on someone at the bridge and ran but I tracked him down." Sam's response was a somewhat puzzled yet approving nod. "Steve will be here soon."

"All right, well you're handling that, Romanov. And him." Sam gestured to the Soldier on his couch, who hadn't seemed to move an inch. "I don't care if he stays here, just keep an eye on Bucky, the Winter Soldier, whoever he is. For Steve." Then Sam took a quick swig out of the milk jug he was holding and turned into the kitchen.

Natasha nodded and walked back over to the living room to where Bucky was sitting. In a possibly futile attempt to make him more comfortable, she started talking to him.

"I know you're confused. You probably don't know who I am. But Steve is on his way here…" At his mention, she noticed Bucky stiffen a bit and take in a deep breath. But nothing more. She swallowed and tried again. "Just…just know that no one here wants to hurt you." Just then Natasha heard the front door open and fast, heavy footsteps in the kitchen.

"Nat?" Bucky's head snapped up at the sound of Steve's voice ricocheting off the back wall. "You sounded urgent…" Steve entered the doorway of the living room, but Natasha met him there before he could finish his sentence. The real reason he was cut off was the sight of the man in the dark coat on Sam's couch. Bucky was here.

Stumbling through sentences and surprise, Steve directed his words to Natasha and his thoughts to Bucky. "Wh – Where? … I thought you told me not to pull on the thread."

Nat crossed her arms and shrugged as she looked down. "I knew you were going to anyway. Haven't been too successful this far; I thought I'd help you at least do it right." Confusion and worry still filled Steve's face, but he moved past Natasha into the living room to confront it.

Bucky wasn't moving from the far end of the couch. Since Steve walked in his breathing had become nervous and shallow, and he was fidgety. He kept his eyes down, looking anywhere but at him. Even so, Steve came to sit down next to him on the couch.

"Hey, Buck." It seemed like ages that Bucky sat there still, eyes straight ahead of him. But finally he turned toward Steve. And they both knew he remembered. Bucky didn't have to say a word, because all of his hurt, fear, and confusion was written across his expression like the perfect painting of a wounded soldier. He gave the ever-so-slight nod. Yeah, it's me.

Steve didn't know what else to say. He didn't know how much Bucky actually did remember, and he didn't want to tip the glass if his memory was actually that fragile. He couldn't even imagine what Bucky had been through. "I know you're hurting…and you may not fully remember me - " Steve began. His heart ached for Bucky, for his lost friend. "But I'm here. And I want you to know you can stay here, if you like. I'm glad you are here."

Then Bucky looked at Steve; it was the first time he actually made eye contact. Slowly breathing out, he gave Steve a slow, determined nod. Neither of them knew what else to say – Steve didn't want to push Bucky, but Bucky didn't really want to talk to Steve. It was hazy memory. So Steve left him, there on Sam's couch – but It was ever-so-reluctantly.

The Soldier didn't know how long he was there until he feel asleep. The hours dripped by and he was too drained from insomnia to try to do anything.

Steve was here. If he wasn't going to face his own problems, they would come to him, he supposed. I don't know what they want from me, he thought. Just a Soldier, and a fairly worthless one now. No direction, no mission. The memories were too hard. So what was he even doing here? Anywhere? There were still too many questions and the Soldier was getting tired of trying to think out his solutions. Eventually exhaustion won over and the Soldier melted into a few hours of stagnant silence, finally slipping into a temporary state of simply being.