It was two-maybe three-in the morning on a cold January night. Steve had been staying with Sam while his apartment was undergoing maintenance. The house was pin-drop silent (save for faint snoring), then there was a knock at the front door. When no one answered a few moments later, there was a louder thumping. Steve opened his eyes and sat up in bed, fumbled for some pants and a shirt, and walked into the hall to the front door. Whoever it was thumped again. Steve opened the door and rubbed the heel of his palms into his eyes to wake himself up.

"Look, if this is about that missing cat, please tell the owner..." he shoved his hands into his pockets, but when he saw who was in front of him, Steve froze, "...Bucky?"

Standing before him was a disheveled and a very exhausted Bucky. He wore a pair of faded, torn, well-used jeans over (what Steve assumed to be) his military boots and the black T-shirt he wore had a faded Fleetwood Mac logo in the center. Bucky hugged his arms around himself and blew a lock of hair out of his face with a small white cloud of breath, showing off the large, dark circles under his eyes.

"I know you."

"Yeah...you do. And it's been a while. Come on, get in here," Steve coaxed as he pulled Bucky into the house.

He guided his not-so-long-lost friend over to the sofa, where he sat him down and put a blanket over Bucky's shoulders. The ex-assassin pulled the blue fleece closer around himself and stared down at the floor in his own way of saying "thank you". Steve walked into the kitchen, flicked the light on, and worked on a pot of coffee.

"For a 'Winter Soldier'...you don't seem to like cold weather," he joked casually, "which I find odd because you loved the snow in Brooklyn."

"Cryofreeze."

"What?"

"Hydra'd give me a mission, I'd do it, I'd get to sleep for a few more years. Get to escape," Bucky said flatly and kept staring at the floor.

Steve only nodded. In truth, he felt awful that Bucky, his Bucky, had been turned into this brainwashed zombie. It sickened him; it made him glad that Hydra had been defeated. He still remembered what happened over the Potomac, even if Bucky didn't. How he didn't fight back, how he couldn't fight back. How he didn't want to hurt his best friend even if he died. How he promised to stay with him 'till the end of the line. The coffee machine beeped and Steve heard a door open. There were some footsteps and soon Sam came into the kitchen.

"Why are you making coffee at 3:45 - why is he in my house?"

Bucky jumped to his feet, dropped the blanket, and assumed a defensive position. Sam followed suit off of old instinct, and both were about three seconds away from beating the other's ass into pulp. Steve jumped in between the two and put a hand up to each.

"Everyone calm down. Bucky showed up at the door, so I invited him in."

Sam relaxed and leaned against the wall, "he's not a lost puppy, Cap."

"He's not a bloodthirsty murderer either," Steve moved over to Bucky, eased him out of his stance, and back down on the sofa, "want some coffee?"

Sam nodded and pulled three mugs from a cupboard while the Captain tried to make Bucky comfortable again. He helped him get his boots off, gave him an old hoodie from the bedroom, and brought him some coffee.

"Thanks," Bucky mumbled, almost silently, and took the mug.

There was a quiet clink when he took it in his metal hand. Sam took a seat in the recliner to the right of the sofa, and Steve sat down next to Bucky. The ex-assassin tensed for a second before he relaxed and sank back into the pillows.

"If you don't mind my asking," Sam began, " how'd you find my house? And how'd you know Steve was going to be here?"

"I was sitting on a bench in a park...a woman came up and started talking to me. She said she knew who I was. Said her name was Natasha," Bucky took a drink from the mug and continued staring at the floor, "she handed me a piece of paper with an address on it and told me to go there. She said that you would be waiting here for me."

"I guess that's true. You can take the bedroom," Steve offered.

Bucky looked up from the floor and over to the blonde captain.

"I'll take the couch and you can have my bed. You need it."

Sam took all of their mugs into the kitchen and went back to his bedroom. Steve put Bucky's non-metal arm over his shoulders, put an arm around Bucky's waist, and stood the both of them up. Steve's heart dropped when he felt how small his friend's waist had gotten.

"Buck, when was the last time you ate?"

"Three...no two...three days ago. I think."

The brunette lolled against the captain as they walked, proving that he was as exhausted as he looked. When they reached the bedroom, Steve led his friend down onto the bed, and sat him down. He handed the ex-assassin a pair of sweat pants from a drawer.

Bucky welcomed the new clothes and quickly changed out. He pulled the jeans, hoodie, and old shirt off to reveal the scars that flecked his chest, arms, and legs. The scars from stitching the metal arm on, and the scratched red star that was embossed on the silver metal. Steve saw him out if the corner of his eye as he turned for the door.

"Thank you," Bucky said flatly as he slid into the bed.

Steve twitched the corner of his lips in a small smile, "get some sleep, Buck."