Bucky is silent the whole way home. He doesn't say a word as Steve guides him up the stairs, simply letting himself be led. It isn't until he's laid out on the couch, tucked under a blanket, that he speaks. Even then, he just mutters a soft 'sorry', one that Steve might've missed from the kitchen had he not been lingering on Bucky's every ragged breath. Steve appears at Bucky's side with a glass of water.
"Don't be sorry, Buck. You were just trying to protect everyone."
"But I didn't want you to see me like that," he mutters angrily. "I'm trying to do better, but after what Hydra did I can't just do nothing."
"I know, Bucky. You've explained it to me. I understand," Steve says patiently.
"It shouldn't be this hard to be to a person."
Steve watches Bucky's face for a moment, observing the waves of anger and sadness that wash over each other. "Hey Bucky, do you remember the time we scared Mrs. Lola's cat, and it ran up a tree, and we didn't want to upset her because she was so terrible to deal with so we tried to get it down? I started climbing even though you told me I'd fall, and of course I did, but you cushioned my fall. You spent the rest of the summer with a bruised rib, but I never heard you complain. You still took care of me like always, including standing between me and Mrs. Lola's rolled up newspaper when she saw her cat."
"I think I might remember that," Bucky mumbles.
"Well," Steve begins again, "do you remember when we graduated high school? The robe swallowed me and I kept tripping on it. You refused to stand in your place, and you told the principal it was because you had to walk behind me and hold me up. I hit you for that one, but you just laughed, and two minutes later you caught me before I fell again."
Bucky's eyes are unfocused, but he makes a motion that seems like some confused mix between a nod and a shrug.
"What about the time we went fishing, and the fish pulled me right off the deck because I panicked and didn't let go of the rod? You jumped in and pulled me out and told me how stupid I was, then took me home and wrapped me in a blanket and told me again how stupid I was. I might've believed that you were upset of you wouldn't have made me soup and gave me your hat."
The night goes on, and Steve sits on the floor next to the couch telling story after story. If he repeats a few, Bucky either doesn't notice or doesn't mind. It's around three or four am when Bucky's eyes slip closed and his breathing softens. Steve stays awake, still murmuring stories, monitoring the rise and fall of Bucky's chest. The sun rises and Steve babbles on, recalling every single, precious story he can from the era when they were still just two boys from Brooklyn. When Bucky stirs, the sun has risen overhead, and Steve has finally fallen silent.
"Steve?" he mumbles sleepily.
"Yeah, Bucky?" he replies.
"Can you tell me the one about the time we swam in that river on the fourth of July one more time?"
Steve smiles warmly. "Of course." And so he does, elaborating more on the way he squealed when a fish brushed his leg, and how the current tried to take him but the current wasn't as strong as Bucky. Bucky's stare is still vacant, but there is recognition in his eyes. Steve hopes it is true recognition, and not just a memory of the story being told a few hours ago. As he's telling Bucky about the old man who gave them penny candies on their way home despite them practically being grown men, his phone rings.
"Hello," he says and he hears Natasha's voice filter through the earpiece.
"Hey, Steve," Natasha says, her voice all business, "we have an id on the woman you sent us." Much to Steve's relief, she doesn't mention Bucky's rampage. Steve's gaze drifts over to Bucky, who is still staring vacantly. "Her name is Ophelia. She's another Hydra experiment. She won't give us anything, though."
"Alright," Steve replies with a sigh. "Anything else?"
Natasha is quiet for a moment. "They've assumed, considering his acts yesterday, that Barnes is the one responsible for the unauthorized assaults on Hydra," she says softly.
Steve grimaces. "And do they plan to do anything about it?"
"Not as of right now," she replies. "I'll keep you posted, though."
"I appreciate it."
"And Steve? Don't get yourself into trouble," she chuckles.
"Too late," he replies. There is another soft laugh before the line goes dead. Bucky is still sitting perfectly still. He would look serene, if it weren't for the furrow in his brow and the lost daze in his eyes. "Hey, Buck," he says, returning to his seat next to the couch, "Are you hungry?"
Bucky's gaze slowly drifts until it falls on Steve. "Um, yeah, I guess so."
"How's pancakes sound?"
Bucky nods.
"Great," he says, flashing a smile that Bucky doesn't return. He goes to the kitchen, watching the tip of Bucky's head as he makes pancakes. He's so distracted that he burns the first batch. He forces himself to focus on the pancakes, telling himself nothing can happen to his friend in the time it takes to cook a meal.