"Face it buddy, he's long gone." Sam stared at the road, not looking at Steve.

"How can you be so sure?"

"We've looked all over this city, and all countryside around it. He's either at the bottom of the Potomac, or out of D.C."

"I saw him drag me onto the bank." It was blurry, and half remembered, but he saw it. He saw Bucky - or was it the Winter Soldier? - turn and walk away. Maybe he'd imagined it, the hypoxia getting into his brain, but that didn't feel right. He saw him, and his eyes had never lied to him before. Bucky hadn't drowned.

"Then he's out of D.C."

How did you find a super-assassin that could be anywhere in the country? Did you just wait till people started dying, and follow the bodies, hoping some witness got a half glimpse of a metal arm? Did you just sit there until someone lost their life to a ghost story, all while your friend was trapped inside the ghost?

The drive passed in silence. It wasn't comfortable silence, it was the silence of conversation that had ended with no one happy about it.

Sam parked against the curb of Steve's apartment building. "I'll see you tomorrow,"

Steve stepped out. "See you then."

Sam nodded and drove off.

Steve went straight to the garage. Going to the Smithsonian didn't make him feel better, it made him feel worse, but it was better than just sitting around, not knowing what to do.

It was the closest he'd get to seeing Bucky for a while, anyway.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Winter Soldier - Bucky? - stared at the plaque. Names and dates filled it, vague half snatches of memories spilling off them. Smells he couldn't place, sounds of things he didn't remember hearing, faces he didn't know swirled into his brain.

James Buchanan Barnes? Am I?

No, no, he was the Winter Soldier, HYDRA's greatest asset, the saviour of humanity. Not some soldier who died in the snow years ago.

Even if he could still feel the plunge into the icy river.

Even if he couldn't remember remembering that.

All through the plaque, all through this mess of an exhibition (no clear mission, no clear path-), sang the refrain of Steve, Steve, Stephen, STEVE. He knew who this man was. He knew how his name rested on his tongue. He recognised him (man on the bridge, his mission), but there was something missing. It was like a word repeated too often, you knew it had meaning, but you couldn't remember what it was.

There was something he didn't know. Something deep in his bones told him he was more than a mission, more the man on the bridge who called him Bucky.

(And why did he remember the bridge? He was meant to forget it, he was sure? Though how did he know that he was meant to forget that?)

(Too much was terrifying blankness)

So he stared at the plaque, hoping he'd remember something concrete, something that would prove beyond all doubt that Yes he was Bucky or no he was not.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was late afternoon when Steve arrived and parked his bike. Most people had left already, and the museum slowly ground its way to closing time.

Steve jogged up the stairs, heading towards the exhibition. Even with so little people, he still wore his hood up and cap on. He didn't need people asking for autographs. He needed space to remember Bucky. He needed quiet.

The Captain America exhibit was empty apart from the non-stop voices of the recordings. He ignored them, and walked over to the little section devoted to Bucky.

It was always strange going to Bucky's section. It wasn't that they'd gotten anything wrong (well, apart from saying he'd died), not really, but it was a perspective Steve never really associated Bucky with.

Bucky wasn't the little footnote, remarkable only for his death, Bucky was his best friend. Bucky was the one who was with him till the end of the line.

The only other person in the exhibit was also there, staring at the plaque. Steve stood a polite distance away from them and let them read. No point bothering them.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Winter Soldier glanced over to the person standing next to him. Was this... Steve? He quickly looked over at one of the many photographs of Steve littering the room.

This was Steve. Not that he needed to check. He knew the faces of each of his missions better than his own, and there was something deeper about this one that made him want to take a second look.

Little flashes of memory whizzed past his eyes, too quick to catch.

Steve?

Steve, so important, but he couldn't place him properly.

And why did he call him Bucky? This place said Bucky was dead. But something about what was said on the plaque sounded right.

Was Steve right?

He probably was. Memory was the sacrifice he'd had to make to be the saviour of humanity. Pierce had told him that, once. (Though he couldn't remember if he was supposed to remember that.)

The Winter Soldier thought about leaving, trying to find HYDRA again, getting a mission (something concrete to focus on without having to deal with the cutting memories.) But he thought again. Steve radiated conviction, greater than anyone in HYDRA. This wasn't a man who thought he was right, this was a man who knew.

And the exhibition said he was his friend. And something had made him drag him out of the Potomac

(Doubt. More doubt than a saviour of humanity should have.)

(And something else to. A little voice in his head, saying 'But I knew him')

Bucky turned back to face him. "Steve?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Steve heard his name. At first he thought it was one of the many recordings in the exhibit, until his brain caught up with his ears, and he realised that it came from next to him.

He glanced over at the person next to him. It was... no, it couldn't be. He couldn't just fall into his lap after searching so long. He looked away, and looked back again.

"Bucky?"

He was standing there, still looking like a mess, but with a little more life in his eyes. He looked up at Steve. "Steve?"

"Do you need somewhere to stay?" The way Bucky looked... was not good. It was the look of someone who needed a warm meal and bed, and after all he'd done for Steve, it was the least he deserved.

Bucky blinked a couple of times. "Yes," he said, eventually.

Steve gently touched Bucky's shoulder. He flinched, and Steve jerked his hand back. "Sorry. Follow me. I just need to make a call." He remembered that he'd pulled it out it's socket during the fight on Insight helicarrier. Though maybe Bucky just didn't know how to react to touch.

He walked back through the exhibit towards the museum entrance, Bucky walking in his footsteps. Steve got out his phone, and called Sam.

The phone rung a few times before Sam answered it. "What is it, Cap?"

"I need to borrow your car. I've found Bucky."

"You're not taking the bike?"

"I'll pay the fine for leaving it overnight. I think a car would be best."

"Got it." A remote beeped, and locks clicked on the other end of the line. "Where are you?"

"National Museum of American History."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Winter Soldier waited next to Steve, watching the cars pass by.

Steve had talked to him, asked him how his day had been.

He didn't answer. How were you supposed to answer that? Was it like giving a report? (you shouldn't give reports to your targets, that would be just- he couldn't think of a word to properly encapsulate how wrong that would be.) He didn't remember ever really been asked that.

Steve eventually stopped talking.

The Winter Soldier was a little bit thankful for that. But he was also disappointed. He wanted Steve to talk about Bucky. Tell him who he was. But how did you ask that? Was it a thing you were allowed to ask?

So they both kept quiet.

After a few minutes a car pulled up against the curb.

Steve led The Winter Soldier towards it, his hand resting a few inches in the air above the small of The Winter Soldier's back.

The Winter Soldier slid into the back seat, careful not to jar his shoulder (it'd heal in a few days, wouldn't it?).

The Winter Soldier looked over at the driver. The Winged Man. "You were there."

The Winged Man turned around, a little shocked. "Uh, yes. Yes I was." He turned back around and started to drive onto the road. "I'm Sam."

The Winter Soldier nodded.

Sam turned to Steve. "Where to?"

"My apartment."

The Winter Soldier caught a quick flash of Brooklyn and blinked it away. They can't have been going to Brooklyn. They were in D.C. Though still, something deep down said that Steve's apartment is in Brooklyn.

They were on a highway when Sam spoke again. "So how are you feeling, Bucky?"

The Winter Soldier glanced around. "I'm not sure I am Bucky."

Steve looked uncomfortable. "You are Bucky."

Sam ignored him. "What would you like to be called?"

The Winter Soldier shrugged. "Bucky is shorter."

They arrived in front of an apartment building. It snuggled up close to it's neighbours, straining to reach higher. Overall, it looked like any other apartment the Winter Soldier had seen.

As he and Steve stepped out, Sam called out behind them. "I'll see you guys tomorrow then."

Steve nodded. "See you then." He turned to the Winter Soldier. "Come on Buck, let's get you inside."

They walked in and up the stairs. The Winter Soldier took note of the interior. Again, fairly standard. Nothing to make assassination particularly easy or difficult. The walls didn't seem to be particularly sound proof though.

Steve frowned and ignored the screaming neighbours. "Sorry about that."

The Winter Soldier didn't say anything, just tucked his hair behind his ear and followed.

Steve unlocked his door. "Make yourself at home."

The Winter Soldier stalked in, checking for threats. There didn't seem to be any traps, but something about the room felt wrong. Like it should be triggering deja vu, but it wasn't. It didn't feel like Steve's apartment. (Not that he knew how Steve's apartment was supposed to feel.)

"It's okay Bucky, it's safe."

The Winter Soldier straightened.

"Do you want something to eat?"

The Winter Soldier nodded. Was that the right answer? He didn't know if he was hungry. He'd always been fed when HYDRA thought he needed to be. He didn't know what hunger even felt like. (Did it feel like an emptiness in your stomach? Then yes, he was hungry.)

The rest of the afternoon and evening passed in a blur. Steve fed him, then threw him in the shower.

It eventually came time to sleep. The Winter Soldier didn't feel tired, not anymore than he normally did. He felt wound up and coiled, waiting for the next thing to happen.

"You can sleep in my bed if you want. I can bring the couch cushions over."

The Winter Soldier glanced over at the front door. Unlocked. Weak hinges. He shook his head and sat down on the couch.

Steve frowned. "Okay. Do you want me to bring the mattress over?"

"No." He needed to be able to stand up without Steve noticing. Steve may have been Steve, but he was still his mission. There were knives in the kitchen drawer. They may not be the best, but they were there.

Steve's face twitched between pleased and disappointed. It finally settled on calm. "Okay. I'll see you in the morning."

The Winter Soldier lay down, watching the door, waiting for the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

He woke up, not remembering falling asleep. Sweat dried on his back. He stood up, glancing around in the dark for whatever had woken him up.

Nothing moved.

He breathed out.

Then he remembered. Not when he fell asleep, but something far more important.

He walked over to the kitchen, carefully transferring his weight between his feet to not make a sound.

Faint blinks of recognition be damned, he needed to kill Steve. That was his mission. Even if he recognised him enough to drag him out of the Potomac, even if he'd been so, so kind, even if the rest of HYDRA had fallen.

Captain America must die.

He pulled out the drawer slowly. What even caused him to recognise him? He didn't even know him. He was Captain America, yes, but there was no real evidence that the Winter Soldier was Bucky. Nothing but whatever Steve saw, and the Winter Soldier's faint flashes of memory. (But everyone had those, didn't they?)

He grabbed a bread knife (not ideal, but at least it had some reach) and stalked over to Steve's door.

It creaked as he pushed it open.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Steve woke with a start. Just a door creaking. Nothing to worry about. There's no one else in the apartment. Not that trying to reassure his mind did anything really to decrease the rate of his heart.

He paused. The Winter Soldier is in the apartment.

He bolted up and threw himself into the correct stance. He had just enough time to register the silhouette in the doorway before it leapt at him.

Bucky tried to stab him in the chest.

Steve grabbed the blade before it hit, cutting his hand. He threw it away.

Bucky overbalanced and fell on the floor.

Steve went over to pin him, but Bucky sprung up, cat like, before he had the chance. He leaped at Steve again.

Steve's back hit the wall, right shoulder pinned by Bucky's metal arm. Bucky's flesh arm hung, still dislocated.

"Bucky, stop. I'm Steve. Your friend."

Bucky lifted his right arm and punched Steve across the jaw.

Earlier, Steve would have just let him keep going. He wasn't going to fight his friend. He'd let Bucky kill him and have his corpse drop into the Potomac just so he didn't have to fight Bucky.

But now? Bucky needed him. He could help Bucky now.

Sometime you had to be cruel to be kind.

With his free hand, he grabbed Bucky's fist. "Bucky. You are Bucky, not the Winter Soldier."

Bucky yanked his arm free, and held it there, ready to strike.

"I'm Steve. I'm your friend from before." He resisted the temptation to yell We've been through all this before! "I'm with you til the end of the line."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Winter Soldier blinked twice, and it came back to him.

Not just Steve, more than faint blinks, but full blown images. A small man, coughing his lungs out, but still fighting. Trying to stop him getting killed in some war, and then HIM rescuing YOU.

Being captured, turned into something else. Chairs, restraints and gags. Electricity arcing along skin, your skin, leaving nothing but a shell.

Waking up and remembering nothing.

Falling, falling and falling, plunging into icy water. Falling again, everything broken again, into another river, going under it water not as icy but just as all encompassing and terrifying-

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bucky let go and just... collapsed.

Steve swallowed. Bucky fell down like a marionette with his strings cut.

Buck whimpered and twitched.

Steve kneeled down.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth.

"Bucky?" Steve touched his shoulder.

Bucky flinched away from the touch, hands flying to the back of his neck, and he shrieked. It was short and sharp and loud, like Steve had poked at an open wound.

Steve took his hand away. "Sorry Buck, I won't do that again. I promise." He stood up. He didn't pay much attention to what he said, just babbled comforting nonsense. "It's going to be okay. i'm going to put the knife away, and it will be all fine. I'm going to call Sam - you remember him, don't you Buck? He was the one who drove us here - I'm going to call him and he'll help. He knows what to do. It'll be okay."

He grabbed the knife and walked over to the door. He looked over his shoulder. It didn't feel right to leave Bucky when he was like this. Steve rolled his shoulders and walked on. It'd only be for a second.

He replaced the knife in the drawer. (The gun cabinet may have been a better choice, but it was a bread knife. He'd need it in the morning.) He went over to the cordless phone and picked it up, dialling as he walked back to Bucky.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sam's phone rung.

He groped along his bedside table, before finally managing to grab it. He sat up. "Hello, Sam Wilson speaking." He blinked the sleep from his eyes and yawned.

"It's Steve. We have a bit of a problem."

That woke him up. "What's wrong? Has Bucky attacked you?"

"Well... a little bit, but that's not the problem we have."

Sam got up out of bed and slipped on some shoes. This was certain to turn into a house call. "What's the problem?"

"I reminded Bucky who I was, and who he was, and then he collapsed. He's on the floor, whimpering, and he's not responding to me talking, only responding to me touching him."

"Mh-hm?" He threw on a coat, grabbed his keys, and walked out to car. Road safety be damned, this was an emergency. And with any luck, no police would notice him on his phone.

"I touched his shoulder, and he started screaming."

Sam tried to go through the causes in his mind and started driving. If he strained to hear, he could just about hear whimpering. 'Could you put Bucky on the phone?"

There was a pause. The whimpering got louder. "How?"

"Can you see his ear? Hold the phone just above it."

"Okay." The whimpering got closer, and Steve's voice got further away. "Bucky, it's okay. It's Sam on the phone for you. He wants to help you."

"Bucky, can you hear me?"

Bucky let out a long whine.

"Bucky, it's going to be fine. Just follow my instructions. I want you to take a deep breath."

"Can't." Bucky whimpered more.

Small victory. "Yes, you can. Follow me." Sam breathed in loudly and slowly.

"Can't. Drowning-"

"Bucky, I can guarantee you that you aren't drowning. It's just your brain playing tricks on you. If you breathe with me, you will feel better. Breathe in-" Bucky followed shakily. "- and out. I want you to do that five more times for me, okay?" Sam listened and counted Bucky's sobbing breaths. When he finished, he started speaking again. "Do you feel better now?"

Bucky just whimpered again.

Sam cursed under his breath. At least it wasn't surprising that just breathing didn't completely help. "Okay Bucky, I want you to open your eyes if they're not already. What do you see?"

"There's no point. I'm in a river, it's all water-"

"Bucky, you're not in a river. You're not drowning. Open your eyes. What do you see?"

"Wall."

'Tell me about the wall. What's it look look like?"

"Beige. Plaster."

"Okay, what's the floor like."

"Beige as well. Carpet." Bucky's breathing seemed to have calmed a bit.

"What's the carpet like, Bucky?" Sam turned. Nearly there.

"Soft."

"Do you know where you are?"

There was a pause. "Steve's apartment?"

"Right you are. Tell Steve I'm nearly there."

Sam could hear Bucky shifting. "Sam says he's nearly here."

Sam parked and jumped out of the car. He ran up the stairs two at a time. He knocked on Steve's door. "Tell Steve I'm at the door."

"Sam says he's at the door."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Steve lifted the phone off Bucky's ear. "You okay with me answering the door?"

Bucky shrugged.

"I'll be right back." Steve stood up and walked over to the kitchen. He replaced the phone, went over to the door, and opened it. "It's good to see you Sam, he's just threw there-"

Sam stood in the doorway, frowning. "I need to talk to you first. You said he attacked you?"

Steve nodded.

"What did he do?"

Steve shrugged. "He came at me with a bread knife. The door creaked as it opened, I woke up, brought him back to himself. Then he collapsed, and I called you."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "And where's the knife now?"

"In the knife drawer."

Sam sighed. "Steve, the only reason you don't have a knife in your chest is because of hypervigilance and a creaky door. Put your knives somewhere safer. If not for you, then for Bucky. We don't know if he's going to harm himself or not."

Steve nodded. "Okay, I'll find somewhere to put them."

"Good." Sam pointed past Steve. "He just through there?"

"Second door on your left."

Sam nodded and walked past Steve. "Oh, and there's a package on your doorstep."

"A package?" Steve stuck his head through the door. A large cardboard box, two feet by two feet by five inches, sat propped up against the wall. "FRAGILE" stickers covered most of the box. Steve grabbed it and eyed it suspiciously, carrying it over the the couch. One of the many "FRAGILE" stickers half covered the return address, but the the Stark Industries on the shipping label made it's origin clear.

He exhaled. The fact it was from Stark made it a little less likely it was a bomb or something else dangerous. A little.

He cut the tape with his nails and opened the box. His shield sat in the box. Steve grabbed it, eager to have it's weight resting in his hands.

A note fluttered out. He picked it up and read it.

"Cap. Steve Rogers,

I request that you are more careful with your shield in the future. Vibranium is RARE, in case you were not aware of this already.

-NJF"

A little handwritten note was at bottom of the letter.

"Seriously Cap, do you know how hard it is to find vibranium in a large body of water? Well, easier than most metals, BUT THAT IS NOT THE POINT.

Love, Tony Stark"

Steve huffed out a breath and dropped the note. Tony definitely wrote that. The "FRAGILE" stickers were probably what Tony thought of as a joke.

He felt along the rim of the shield. It seemed to be as good as new despite the fall into the river.

It felt good to have his shield back. It was his weapon. He could defend himself properly if something happened to Bucky again. The Winter Soldier may have been able to wield it, but he couldn't wield it as well as Steve.

Steve rested the shield on his lap and hoped he wouldn't have to use it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

The Winter Soldier heard the footsteps from up the corridor. His muscles tensed, ready to leap up and defend himself (not that he could, he couldn't will his limbs to do anything right now), and his breathing sped up again. He tried to calm it. Sam was at the door before, it was probably him walking down the corridor.

The Winter Soldier saw someone's feet as they walked into the room. He lifted his head and looked up. It was Sam. He let his cheek fall back to the floor.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better."

Sam just stood there and crossed his arms. "You're not going to sit up, are you?"

The Winter Soldier shook his head.

Sam sighed and sat down next to him. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

The Winter Soldier shrugged. "Maybe. You're going to take it away anyway."

"Pardon?"

"I said you're going to take the memory away anyway. My missions would be compromised if I knew to much." Bucky frowned. It was obvious, wasn't it?

Sam made an odd expression (The Winter Soldier didn't quite recognise it. Pity? Sorrow?) and dropped his voice. "I promise I won't take any of your memories or tell anyone else about what you say unless I'm worried you're going to hurt yourself or anyone else. We're not HYDRA."

"If you're lying, you won't live long."

"I am aware."

The Winter Soldier settled into the carpet. This might take awhile. "What do you want to know?"

"I want to know why you attacked Steve with a bread knife."

"He was my mission." Why did he even need to ask that?

"Was?"

"I'm not sure if he is anymore."

Sam nodded. "What happened afterwards?"

"He reminded me who he was, and I remembered."

"Remembered what?"

"That he was Steve. That I drowned."

"So that was why you were saying you were drowning."

The Winter Soldier shrugged.

"Those were flashbacks . They're pretty normal. They get better with treatment."

"Sounds good."

"Are you saying treatment sounds good?"

The Winter Soldier shrugged again. He scanned the room.

A book sat on Steve's bedside table: Unsung Hero: A Biography of James 'Bucky' Barnes by Gabe Jones. He blinked a couple of times. The title was intriguing enough, he wanted to know more about the man everyone was convinced he was, but it was the author's name that really intrigued him. He recognised the name. It wasn't bone deep knowledge like the name Steve, just a faint flash of deja vu, of vague memory of once knowing someone with that name.

He stood up and went over to the book.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"WOAH!"

Steve jumped up from the couch and ran towards Sam when he heard the shout. He was in the doorway, shield up before he had time to think.

Sam pressed himself up against a wall.

Bucky stood next to his bedside table... reading? He flipped the page.

He turned to face Sam. "You all right?"

Sam laughed nervously and peeled himself off the wall. "He just surprised me. I wasn't expecting him to spring up like that."

"Well, considering his history-"

"Yeah, I know, probably reasonable in this case. Right now I'm more surprised about the book."

"He went straight for it?"

"And starting reading." Sam tried to look past Bucky. "What is it anyway?"

"It's a biography of him."

Sam looked a little bit unimpressed. "You own a biography of Bucky?"

"It was written by one of the Howling Commandos."

If anything, Sam looked less impressed. "Steve-"

"I know, I know. Let's focus on the important things. Will he react to anything but the book right now?"

"It's been all of thirty seconds since he picked up. I don't know."

Steve inched over to him. "Bucky?"

Bucky stood still, and turned the page again.

"It's me, Steve."

No reaction.

Steve turned to Sam.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know what's going on either. Maybe another flashback?"

Steve frowned and walked back over to Sam. "Bucky was never much of a reader."

"Maybe he's just intrigued by the title." Sam paused and rocked from side to side.

"You were going to say something?"

"Confidentiality."

Steve could guess what Sam was thinking. The file mentioned mind wiping, and Bucky had an odd memory of himself (and Steve too, if the meeting on the bridge was any indication.) The thought of Bucky having to slowly piece himself back together, or worse, work out how to pretend to be himself made Steve want to murder every member of HYDRA one by one. He exhaled, trying to push out the thoughts with his breath. Every member of HYDRA would get a trial. "Should we just leave him here?"

"I don't think he's going to respond to us. We may as well just keep an eye on him."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At first none of what the author said seemed right.

Then all of it did.

The Winter Soldier - no, Bucky - lost track of time as he read.

The section on his childhood didn't quite strike him as right. It didn't seem wrong, per se, it just seemed like it belonged to someone else, long dead.

Then he reached a page where he became friends with Steve. The author didn't seem to know much about what had happened then, but it was enough to jog his memory.

Scrawny kid, always coughing, but he was nice. Their Ma's were best friends, so they spent a lot of time together.

They sat on the balcony, while their mums talked about whatever mums talked about.

"Hey, Buck?"

"Yeah?"

"Are we best friends?"

He turned to Steve, and with a grin that only a ten year old who'd seen no better or worse in life could have, said "Of course."

He tried to read faster after that.

Growing up, going to war, it was all there.

The author reached Zola's lab. Again, he didn't seem to know what happened to Bucky himself, but he knew Zola's lab.

Bucky felt his breath quicken, and he tried to turn past the pages on the lab, blinking away the ice cold table and the name and rank bubbling past his lips.

(The author seemed to think he'd only been there once, but that didn't feel right. He was sure he'd been there more than once.)

The book finished in a river he didn't die in. He wanted to throw it across the room. His story didn't end there, and there was so much he didn't remember-

He exhaled and looked out the window. Sunlight filtered through the blinds.

Bucky walked out of the room, hugging the book to his chest. "Steve?" He didn't know why he wanted to talk to Steve, but something told him 'talk to Steve' was a strategy that couldn't go far wrong.

Steve trotted up to Bucky, forehead creased in worry. "Is something wrong?"

Bucky shook his head. "Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to know if the author knew what he was talking about."

Steve nodded. "Do you recognise the name?"

"Maybe."

"He was one of the Howling Commandos."

Bucky blinked a couple of times. Yes, he did remember him. "The black one who knew languages?"

Steve nodded and grinned.

Bucky held out the book. "I should probably return this to you."

Steve pushed it back. "You can keep it, you probably need it more." Steve pointed behind him at the kitchen. "I made some oatmeal. Want some?"

Bucky nodded and followed him.