"No, I don't wanna talk about it

I don't wanna listen all that much

Is it falling apart?

I don't want to talk about it

I just wanna hold your hand"

—Your Soul, Rhodes

Steve always slept better when it rained.

The rain from his childhood was the same rain that fell now.

Where it fell wasn't the same and never could be… Saplings had grown into shade trees with initials carved into the bark. Once-new sidewalks had cracked. Those cracks had filled with moss.

But the rain let him remember.

It let him remember summer nights on his grandmother's porch. Watching the rain as a phonograph played inside the house, music drifting through a cracked window. It let him remember the leaky gutters, the cat taking shelter behind the lattice, the chipping paint on the porch swing.

The rain let him drift through his memories now, as he stared out the window, watching rivulets stream down the glass.

Not sleeping.

"Steve?"

If he slept, he couldn't remember.

"Steve."

A hand gingerly fell on his shoulder.

He turned his head to see who it was. The city lights helped.

Bucky. He felt a smile tug at his lips.

Bucky offered a smile in return, but his brow was furrowed and his eyes were worried. They shouldn't be worried.

"Hey, Stevie."

When Steve dropped his gaze—he was bone-tired—he saw the vibranium of Bucky's left arm reflecting colored rain. The arm confused him. Bucky always removed it to sleep.

Sleep was a threadbare sheet floating down over his legs as his grandmother kissed him goodnight. It was barely-there Chanel No. 5 and cold cream and tobacco. A caress through his hair and an I love you. Sleep was rain tapping on the roof until he fell asleep.

Steve floated through the memories until he came back to Bucky's face, blurred as if a curtain of water separated them. His words were thick when he asked, "Are you all right?"

"I'm all right." Bucky's eyes flickered to someone else, then returned to him. "Are you all right?"

He turned—turned in the rain, spinning faster and faster—to see Tony leaning against the doorframe, his expression neutral. The arc reactor glowed through his shirt. Blue.

Blue like the umbrella collecting rain, forgotten as he splashed through puddles and slipped in the mud.

Blue like chalk, washing away.

Blue like the dripping sweater left on the line.

Rain pattered on the window behind Steve, but he found himself entranced by the arc reactor. It had a faint, soothing hum and he knew it was warm to the touch. He was cold. He'd been in the rain too long, but he couldn't come inside. Each drop was a memory and without the rain, there were no memories.

Still, there was something safe about the blue glow. Calling to him.

He took a step.

And collapsed.

An arm around his chest slowed his fall, but he still collided with the carpet, voices flowing over his head.

"I've got you. We've got you."

"What's going on here, Barnes?" Tony's voice neared.

"He's fine. He just needs sleep."

"Catatonia is not fine."

"Just help me get him to bed."

Hands gripped his arms on either side, hauling him up. They dragged him from the window and the rain began to fade, taking with it caught frogs and yellow boots and spoonfuls of cough medicine.

He dug in his heels.

"Easy," Bucky said in his ear, grip tightening.

But Steve's heartbeat thudded in his ears and he tried to twist free. He felt weak, too weak as he craned his neck to see the rain he could no longer hear, yanking once, then again. One set of hands fell away. The other did not.

"Steve," Bucky warned. "Steve, Steve."

Saying his name over and over, like a prayer.

Say your prayers, Steven, his grandmother said. And he kneeled, the floorboards uneven where they dug into his knees—

He was on his knees, a vibranium arm across his chest, a weight against his back.

"Barnes, maybe we shouldn't…" Footsteps backed away.

"He's okay." Words said against his ear. "You're okay. Come back to us."

No. His chest heaved as he sat back against someone, shirt riding up, body trembling. Thirsty—

He tipped his head back, looking up at the rain, lips parted and moist. Raindrops trailed down his face. Warm, salty.

"Shhh," Bucky whispered, gently rocking.

He closed his eyes, clutching the vibranium hand over his heart. The vibranium protecting him.

"That's right, I'm here." Another, callused hand carded over his forehead and through his hair, over and over. "I'm here."

He listened to the soothing litany of words on warm breaths. The words bringing him in from the cold and leaving him boneless, exhausted.

And the rain—

The rain faded to a mere lullaby as his mind quieted.

He felt himself slipping away.

Steve always slept better when it rained.

"Oh, you know when you're alone,

I'm holding on

And on and on and on

Oh, you know when you're alone,

I'm holding on

And on and on and on

To your soul

Your soul"

—Your Soul, Rhodes