A/N: Help, guys, Civil War is actually coming and this is my attempt to deal with the upcoming doom. I am so excited. And terrified. :) Anyway, I don't know if this is any good or not, but I wanted to try my hand at writing in this fandom. These characters are complex, though, so I have no clue how I did. I wasn't originally going to post it, but then I thought: What the heck? Why not. So here we are. This isn't going to be compatible with CACW, it is just me trying to pretend that they can all love each other and not fight.

Oh, and this isn't slash, just brotherly love. :)

Disclaimer: not mine.

I'm Fine

The Asset morphed out of the shadows of a large cabinet, gun smoking, and passed uncaringly over a women's body. A man lay next to her, his arm outstretched as if to regain hold of his wine glass which now lay across the floor in a million pieces. Puddles of blood were inching out from beneath both rapidly cooling bodies and within seconds they had merged, creating one sickening last moment of connection and love between husband and wife.

The Asset didn't care, It kept moving. The mission wasn't over yet.

Bucky moaned, twisting in the pile of blankets that cocooned him.

"No…" he mumbled, eyes shifting back and forth behind closed lids. "No, I-I don't…." he trailed off, going still.

An enormous tree with blinking lights took up more than half of the room, almost hiding the back staircase. The highly polished wood sparkled against the soft blinking lights. But the Asset didn't notice the enchanting beauty. The Asset stocked forward, leaving glistening, red, imprints of its boots behind. The Asset stopped for a moment in front of the tree. The Asset reached out, fingering pine needles. It grunted with slight surprise. Fake. The tree would do well for later, the Asset wasn't picky.

Mounting the stairs, the Asset moved with total grace and efficiency until he stopped in front of the fourth door down the left from the stairs. A metal hand extended, twisting the polished brass doorknob and stepping into the room.

Steve stopped in the doorway to Buck's room, looking tiredly in on his friend. Running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair he watched Bucky's unconscious movements.

"Buck?" he asked, checking the watch on his wrist as he moved to stand over the bed. "Bucky? You need to wake up. You're dreaming again." Reaching down he, shook the flesh and bone shoulder lightly. Bucky mumbled something, turning his head towards Steve's voice. A second later he was twisting away, his mumbling intensifying.

"Don't. I...the Asset doesn't care..." Steve was able to make out this time and felt his heart drop and turn cold.

"Hey, hey, come on...wake up."

The room was painted in bright colors and shapes, unlike the rest of the house. Small stuffed creatures lined the shelves and letters were painted in loopy, curling letters.

The Asset strode over to the crib, raising the gun.

The mission stirred in her sleep, small fingers coming up to clench at the soft, yellow, blanket.

"Hey, hey, come on... wake up!"

The Asset flinched, looking around for the source of the yelling. It wasn't through the com… the Asset jerked back to his mission. It could not fail in the mission. There were to be no heirs, everyone in the house was his mission. The handlers didn't not want him to fail.

"Wake up for me, Buck!"

Something was smacking against his face, and the Asset stumbled back, confused. There was nothing there, but it happened again. The voice in the middle of nowhere was back.

"Wake up, wake up! Bucky!"

Bucky wasn't waking up but was growing more agitated and Steve knew that this wasn't going to end pretty. He hesitated for a moment. Gently securing Bucky's head between his hands he began to slap his cheeks lightly.

"Come on, come on, come on..." Bucky still wasn't coming round.

The Asset raised the gun once more, looking over the edge of the wooden crib. The baby slept on. Without hesitation, the Asset pulled the trigger.

The crack of the bullet combined with a sharp slap to his face jerked Bucky back to awareness, half screaming. He could feel Steve's hands on his shoulders; hear his voice cracking with panic but the bullet leaving the gun was burned in his vision, the bullet heading towards the baby. The baby…the baby wrapped in a yellow blanket.

His stomach clenched violently and he twisted onto his side just in time to empty its contents all over the floor. He heaved again, vaguely aware of Steve's hand's bracing his shoulders.

"You're alright, it's okay, it will be fine," But the baby wasn't fine, He was fine, the baby had died. Why couldn't Steve understand, he was fine. He was alive. The baby…

His stomach heaved again, he couldn't stop it, couldn't stop seeing the baby, couldn't get it out of his mind, couldn't-

"Bucky, breathe," Steve ordered but he couldn't do it.

Bucky was now dry heaving violently, but he couldn't do anything to stop, not even if he wanted to. He let out a sob, trying to get his flesh arm under himself to raise himself up but it wasn't working, he couldn't control the limb.

As if reading his mind, Steve slipped a hand under his chest, hoisting him up and against his own body. A cool hand pressed against his forehead and Steve began to make soothing noises in the back of his throat.

The baby…and, there had been her parents. The baby's parents hadn't made it. His vision swam sickening, merging the still image of the baby in his mind with the ground in front of him. Steve pulled him a little closer and the baby faded turning into a puddle of sick.

"Shh, you're alright, no one is going to hurt you…breath in, and out…" Steve was saying. There was a pressure on his chest and he sucked a deep breath in, gagged on it, and pulled another one in. "That's right, in…and then out." Steve continued to coach him, waiting until the gasping had faded into harsh and ragged breaths.

The thin tee-shirt Bucky had worn to bed was sticking to him with sweat and hard shivered wracked his body. Steve was asking him if he was alright, but his mind was having a hard time connecting with his tongue.

"I'm fine," he finally managed to blurt out in-between rapid fire gulps of air. He could feel himself shaking against solidness of Steve and clenched his fist open and shut, anything to avoid thinking about the room and the…His stomach clenched again, but he managed to avoid actually bringing anything else up.

"Bucky?" Steve was leaning in front of him, looking concerned. "Are you going to hurl again?" Bucky managed to shake his head and Steve nodded. Taking his arm, he helped him sit up and scoot back so that he was leaning against the wall and away from the pool of vomit.

"Be right back."

Steve was back seemingly seconds after he had said the words and was pushing Bucky's now filthy hair away from his equally filthy face and plopping a trash can in his lap. Worry was etched on Steve's face as he moved to sit next to him, one hand hovering near his should in the case of Bucky toppled over. The assassin was shaking and trembling enough that it was a valid concern.

They set there together for what seemed ages. Bucky shaking and chest heaving and Steve with both arms wrapped tight around his friend.

"Buck, you with me?" Steve asked after a while, breaking his view of the room and the family that had been creeping up on him. "Buck?"

"I'm fine…" Bucky managed again. Steve didn't look convinced one bit.

"Will you be alright for a minute? I'll be right back, just want to get you the glass of water or something" Steve's eyes were filled with pain for him and Bucky quickly looked away his breathing hitching. His friend rose to his feet. "I'll be right back," he repeated.

The horrifying, nauseating stench of vomit had drifted about the room and Bucky swallowed thickly, tipping his head back against the wall as he waited for Steve to return. Sweat began to build on his face and chest as the air grew to feel overwhelmingly hot and he swiped uncoordinated at his face, shifting with a soft moan.

He could hear Steve moving quickly around the room and let his eyes flutter shut. His stomach rolled urgently, protesting.

"Hey, hey, you're alright," Steve was back next to him, bracing the trashcan and shifting it closer to his friend. Reaching out, he began to rub Bucky's flesh and bone arm, staying by his friend until he no longer looked like he was mere seconds from throwing up.

"You ok?" he asked. Bucky nodded.

"Do you think you can stand?"

"Yeah," Bucky croaked atomically. He swallowed back the nasty aftertaste and tried to ignore the way he was still trembling. Gosh, how he hated it.

"Alright." Steve smiled gently at his friend in a way that said everything was going to be alright. The image of blood and gore decreased slightly in its brilliance and Bucky resisted the urge to tell Steve that he didn't deserve his help. He was a monster. He destroyed helpless people. He was alive still. He was fine.

"Buck? You with me still?" He jerked his gaze back to Steve's face, concentrating on the warmth of his hand against his cheek.

"Steve…" he whispered softly, leaning into the touch.

"Yeah, yeah, it's my pal. Think you can stand?" Steve had already shifted an arm around his shoulders, ready to catch or assist as needed. Bucky didn't know what else to do besides nod and together he and Steve shifted him upright.

He swayed shakily and Steve atomically tightened his grip around him, leading him forwards towards the bathroom.

The wooden floor kept shifting in and out of focus and him instead lazily watched Steve's feet and moved in pace with them. The other man's arms tensed around him as the ground abruptly zoomed closer and then he was leaning more heavily against his friend.

The Asset moved a step back from the crib, glancing around the room. His eyes lighted on the window and It frowned. Snow was just starting to fall outside.

"Almost there," Steve said breaking the memory as he kicked the bathroom door open. "Can you stand by yourself?" There was the real concern in his face and Bucky looked down at the sink, not making eye contact.

"I'm fine," he whispered, pulling his metal arm free. It didn't shake, unlike his flesh one, and he used it to grip the sink's counter. Steve reached over to the faucet, grabbing a clean glass.

Bucky squinted as his head throbbed and more of the memory threatened to spill over. Looking up to see what Steve was doing he found himself gazing at his own reflection blinking back at him from the large mirror hanging above the sink. Dark, messy hair framed his incredibly pale face. Not even his lips held any color. Hunching a little more on the counter he looked back down, unable to meet the eyes of the monster.

The Asset stared in wonder at the snowflakes. It paused. The Asset tucked the still warm gun into its holster, passing the body in the crib on the way to the fascinating flakes.

"Here, drink this." Steve was back, pushing the glass into his hands and encircling his flesh one to help keep it steady. "I know, you're fine," he added with a soft smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Knocking the drink back in one swallow, it only took a few seconds for it to make a reappearance and Bucky bent over the sink, upchucking painfully as his stomach had little left to offer.

He pressed his metal hand against the window pane, simply watching the enchanting flakes fall smoothly to the ground. His lips twitched. A scream sounded behind him, and he whirled, gun already out and firing…

"Hey, Bucky, concentrate on me…" Steve had pulled him away from the sink, sitting him down on the closed toilet. His hands were once more pressed against his face and Bucky jerked away hissing. "Alright…" Steve backed off with a calm smile that screamed worried. "I just wanted to know if you thought you can handle a shower or a bath. You kind of need one."

Bucky blinked at the abrupt change of subject, looking down at himself. Vomit was splashed across his shirt and now that Steve mentioned it, he could feel and smell it in his hair and on his face.

Steve but not Steve was lying sickly in a bed. A pail of vomit was sitting next to the bed and Bucky made a face. They didn't appear to be any older than eight or ten.

"Your ma and my ma made me bring your homework back…" he twisted his face into a look of pure disgust. "It ain't fair that their making you do work even though ya sick. You smell, by the way."

"I'm fine," he whispered, bowing his head. Steve was looking more and more concerned but he still he nodded.

"Alright, I'm going to go clean up the room." He stood, watching Bucky so intently that he could feel the star. "If you feel faint-"

"Sit down and put my head in-between my knees, Steve, I know. Yell if I think I am going to pass out." Bucky ran his metal hand over his eyes and holding it there. His head was pounding something terrible, and the memories simply wouldn't leave him alone. His stomach rolled, sickly Steve battling the baby whose name he didn't even know.

Steve squeezed his shoulder. "It will be alright, just give it time." He looked like he truly believed it and Bucky looked away, unwilling to let him see the tears that were starting to gather in his eyes. It wasn't alright. Not for the baby, not for Steve who finally had the body to do what he was meant for and was stuck at home babysitting him. Not for the family or the maybe hundred others he had murdered. "It will be, Buck, it will be."

Steve left the room after an awkward silence when Bucky refused to look at or answer him and Bucky was alone with just his memories. Burying his face in his hands, he fruitlessly tried to halt the tides of the memory that were ready to wash over him.

The nanny, whom he thought had gone home after the parents got back but apparently hadn't, tumbled to the ground, dead. She had been close enough that the blood splattered across the room and landed on the Asset's face. It didn't even blink.

The Asset turned back to the window, drinking in the sight of the falling snow for a whole minute. His heart ached strangely as he pulled himself away. His handlers would be waiting, he must finish his mission.

Pinching himself hard, Bucky gasped, taking in a huge gulp. Steve was knocking, asking if he was alright. Shaking, he turned the shower knob up the hottest it would go. Stumbling into the stream of scorching water he let it wash over him.

The house had gone up in flames and the heat was impressive even at the distance that the Asset was standing. The tree with the candles and blinking lights had indeed proved useful, no one would investigate too far. He watched for a minute to make sure that nothing else happened and then turned. The Asset was to meet his Handlers as soon as It finished but he paused again, letting the snowflakes fall onto his face. They melted. With a sudden shudder, the Asset froze, unable to continue. Cyro. Cyro freeze was waiting for him with handlers. Cryo, Cryo, Cryo…

The heat was overwhelming but Bucky didn't turn it down even as the steam began to rise around him and heat made him dizzier than he already was. Leaning his hurting head against cool tile on the side of the shower he braced himself.

"It was late!" The handlers weren't happy and the Asset remained frozen stock still in The chair. The IV attached to the back of his weak hand itched but the Asset didn't move. Discomfort like that hardly even cross It's mind now, never mind bother the Asset, but the angry shouting match between his handlers did.

"I am sure they just got back late from the charity," The first technician was saying calmly.

"We saw It leave the house. It stayed out an hour late! Who knows what It was up too?" Asset didn't tell them that he had been unable to move from sheer terror for almost half an hour. Only the fear of his handles had got him moving again and even then he had to force his steps.

"Look, we'll track its movements. See, it didn't go anywhere strange."

"But It stopped, right there. That wasn't in the house…" Both technician's looked over at him, anger and disappointment fighting in their faces.

"We are going to have to wipe It to be on the safe side?" The first handler nodded and moved towards the Asset. The Asset felt his chest tighten, fear boiling up in his stomach. Not this, anything but-

"Hey, Buck? You've been in there a while…"

The tiles wavered under his feet and Bucky abruptly sat down, unable to keep himself upright.

"Buck?" Steve was checking on him. He should answer. "Bucky…" There was a note of warning in Steve's voice now, a warning that meant he was going to come in if Bucky didn't answer and if the door was locked…well, good bye door. Forcing his throat to unstick, Bucky croaked out a response that must have satisfied Steve because the door didn't come flying in.

Curling up on his side, Bucky let the water pound against his back. It wasn't quite as warm as before and he knew he had to get out soon or the water would be cold. That thought sent a shudder through his body and he tightened his curl, trying desperately not to think about the mission. They would be haunting him for days and weeks as it was, waiting for him, popping up when he least expected them to.

Steve knocked again when the water had turned downright chilly and the sound pulled Bucky out of his haze of memories.

"I'm fine," he called out but didn't get up. It would too much energy to pull himself upright and face the world again… he closed his eyes. The baby was waiting for him but at least this time he didn't feel like he was going to throw up.

"Bucky?" Steve was back, it hadn't been more than five minutes since he had last knocked… Punk.

"Alright," Bucky called back. Steve was a freaking mother hen. Stiffly uncurling, he turned the water off and slumped back against the cold tub. His eyes itched and his head was killing him and he must have been laying funny on his shoulder because his left one was aching more than normal.

"You're fine," he hissed to himself. He was alive, after all.

%

Steve hovered anxiously outside the bathroom door for a minute until the water turned off. He knew he was worrying too much, he knew that, but the water had to be ice-cold by now and he knew first hand that neither of them responded well to that.

He went back into the kitchen, giving Bucky some space. While his friend had been in the shower, he had cleaned the vomit off the floor and bed, changing the sheet and blankets while he was at it, before mixing up some broth thing that the internet swore was good for soothing stomachs. They would see about that, nothing else they had tried so far had worked.

Steve paused, wishing he could remember his mother's recipe…that had worked wonders on him but unfortunately he had always been too out of it to ever learn how to make it. Bucky had known, Bucky knew all the tricks, but they had fallen with him off the train in 1945.

The bathroom door opened and closed and Steve waited a good three minutes before entering the room. Bucky had become a disfigured lump in the bed having cocooned himself in a pile of blankets, leaving only his face free.

"Are you feeling any better?" He asked from the doorway. Bucky blinked, his eyes sliding back into focus. "Are you feeling any better?" Steve repeated without missing a beat.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Steve raised an eyebrow, seriously doubting that, but he did look better. His face was still pale but there was more color to it.

"I made some broth stuff if you feel up to it." Bucky made a sound that could have been 'yes' or 'no' and Steve sighed, moving to sit on the end of the bed. Bucky scrunched up his feet a little further, making more room for him.

"You know what the therapist, and Sam, has said," he rebuked slightly. They had him going to a professional therapist once a week, but Sam would bring in his opinion occasionally. They had all agreed, though, Bucky needed to be making decisions and voicing his feelings.

Bucky groaned softly, letting his eyes flutter close. Steve waited for several moments before prompting his friend lightly again.

"No," Bucky finally muttered, making a conscious choice. He glanced at Steve out of the corner of his eyes, clearly gauging his reaction. Steve pretended he didn't notice.

"That's fine, maybe later."

Bucky had that faraway look in his eyes again and Steve patted his leg lightly, drawing his attention back to him.

"Do you want to talk?" It was asked without any real hope. Bucky almost never talked about his nightmares and it drove Steve slightly crazy, the therapist as well. Steve wanted to help, to take away what he could and help carry the burden. But it was a conscious choice that Bucky made and they sure as heck weren't about to take that choice away from him

"No!" Bucky yelped, a fearful look flashing across his eyes. He couldn't let Steve now about the baby, not yet, he wasn't prepared for that.

Steve nodded, patting his leg again.

"I am here if you ever do need to, Buck. I won't judge." Bucky wouldn't meet his eyes and Steve wondered not for the first time if that was the reason that Bucky wouldn't talk to him. His friend had that guarded look in his eyes, he was starting to close off. Time to change the subject.

"Hey, I'm going to go get my sketchpad. Do you care if I draw in here?

Steve drew until his neck began to ache from the odd angle and sunlight was starting to drift into the room.

He put his pencil down, letting his head fall back against the wall and simply smiled at Bucky. The other man had his eyes closed and was breathing slowly and deeply but Steve doubted he was actually asleep. It created a peaceful looking picture.

Getting to his feet, he carefully closed the book, tucking its safety away on the dresser. Sam would be expecting him soon, he needed to decide whether he wanted to leave Bucky alone or not. Moving to sit on the bed, Steve simply drank in the sight of Bucky. He still half feared some of the time that this was all a dream and he would wake up to find his best friend dead and he would be all alone again.

Well, not alone. He had Sam, he had the Avengers.

"Bucky…" He still wasn't sure if Bucky was asleep or not. The man was extremely good at faking it if he wanted to be left alone, but his brow was scrunched up in pain. That surprised Steve more than anything. Bucky had a high pain tolerance, thanks to Hydra…

Allowing his blood to boil for a minute, Steve took a deep breath. Hydra could wait, Bucky was his main objective now.

"Hey, Buck….?" He made sure to keep his voice low, just in case Bucky really was asleep. He didn't stir and Steve sat back, pushing his friend's damp hair behind his ears and out of his face. He let his hand linger against Bucky's brow. He was cool and clammy to the touch. "I'm not going to run with Sam today, alright? Call out if you need something."

He left the door open as he headed towards the kitchen. A quick cup of coffee had his name all written all over it and as he waited for it to heat, he texted Sam.

We had a rough night. Won't be running.

Sam replied almost immediately, bless his soul. Steve often wondered what he would do without Sam and he usually came to understand that he didn't want to think about it.

You ok?

Yeah. Buck wasn't violent.

That wasn't always the case and who could blame the poor man after everything he had been through.

Do you want me to come over?

Steve paused, thinking. Sam would if he asked him too.

Nah, I think we are over the worse.

He didn't know if that was true or not, but if things got bad again then he could always call and Sam would drop whatever he was doing and come. Bless Sam Wilson.

Alright.

Still might drop by for dinner if you pay. ;)

Steve smiled. Shaking his head, he slipped the phone away from him and went to get his cup of coffee.

Bucky didn't leave his bed the rest of the morning, not that Steve blamed him. He had that lost, glazed, look in his eyes every time that Steve checked in on him and the Captain wasn't quite sure that Bucky had every really returned to the real world. He was still in the midst of whatever memory he was working through.

"Hey, Buck?" he asked around noon, coming to stand over the bed. Bucky blinked slowly and Steve tried again, and then again when Bucky only turned his head sluggishly.

"Bucky?" he sat down on the side of the bed, lightly gripping Bucky's shoulder. "Bucky?" The other man began to blink more rapidly, his eyes scrunching close in pain. His breathing began to come in ragged.

"You're alright… You are in New York," Steve began to list Bucky's reminders, patiently waiting for Bucky to finish coming around.

"Steve…?" Bucky was gasping, his metal hand finding Steve's and gripping it hard.

"Yup, buddy. Right here." He squeezed back, trying to get him to focus. Bucky sucked in a deep breath, holding it for several seconds before releasing it, still squeezing Steve's hand.

"In and out. You're safe, you are at home with me, not with Hyrda." Bucky blinked heavily, still gasping for air, and then relaxed back into pillows.

"What time is it…?" he muttered tiredly, rubbing the back of his hand roughly across his face and letting go Steve's hand.

"About noon. Do you want some lunch? You skipped breakfast and spent the night up chucking everything else."

"Not hungry." Bucky rolled over onto his side and away from Steve, pulling the covers back over his head.

"Are you sure? Maybe just something small? Some oatmeal, maybe?"

Bucky made a strange sound, pulling the blankets tighter. "Stop worrying, Steve. I'm fine," he whispered in a muffled voice that Steve couldn't read."I'm fine."

Steve made a face, refraining from telling him that, 'he was most certainly not fine."

"Drink some water at least." He shook Bucky's leg lightly, just as a reminder that he was still there. "Bucky…Buck."

The lump in the bed was quivering. "Or milk, or coffee, or, or really anything, but I do think that you need to get some liquid of some sort into you. Bucky…" The Bucky lump shifted and Steve continued to press his luck.

"Fine," Bucky finally groaned, roughly throwing the covers back so that he could look at Steve in annoyance. His red-rimmed eyes were set off by the paleness of his skin and he looked exhausted, but the Captain couldn't help a small smile. Bucky's hair was everywhere and looked truly speculator.

He stood up, holding out his hand. "You can stretch your legs as well. Get a change of scenery. with one stone, not bad." Bucky glared softly at him, resting his head against the damp pillow before accepting the hand.

"You okay?" Steve asked, his eyes darkening with worry as Bucky stumbled into him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Bucky straightened himself slowly, wincing against the pain his head, and shuffled his way towards the kitchen. His metal hand remained out, tracing lightly against the wall to help support his weight.

"You sure you don't want anything besides water?" Steve asked once Bucky had all but collapsed into a chair. In response, Bucky let his head fall onto his folded arms. He was beyond caring.

Steve set a glass of water in front of him and then went to turn on the coffee machine for himself.

"Are you feeling any better?" Steve sat down beside him, gently settling his hand on his friend's shoulder and began to massage where flesh met metal.

"Yeah," Bucky repeated numbly, not moving to touch the glass. He let out a low groan, rolling his head to face Steve. His forehead was creased in what was most likely agony, though Bucky would never admit it.

"Good. I'm glad to hear that." Steve said it so genuinely that Bucky couldn't help but feel that Steve really was glad and that still surprised him no matter how many times it happened. "Go on, drink up. You'll feel even better after that."

Bucky didn't lift his head but half-heartedly began to play with the tall glass. Cold droplets of condescension were forming and his flesh fingers made slow patterns in it. Steve continued to rub his shoulder, watching Bucky.

The abrupt ringing of Steve's phone made both of them jump. The ringtone was obnoxious, loud and screamed Tony Stark. Steve smiled apologetically.

"Sorry, he changed it and I haven't for the life of me been able to figure out how to change it back," he explained. Getting to his feet, he squeezed Bucky's shoulder and headed towards the living room. "Drink!" he called back over his shoulder before answering.

Bucky tracked at the slow droplets, trying to avoid anything about the family or the rest of the memory for the moment. He was still missing something, but part of the problem was that he wasn't so sure he wanted to find it. He was scared of what he what he would find.

He had been thinking back on the memory ever since Steve had gone to go get his sketchpad until Steve had brought him her, trying to come up with anything further details about his victim, but the results were lacking. The father liked wine and loved his family. The mother worried over her baby but like to dress up and go out all the same. The baby, Anna, he had learned once he concentrated hard enough on the word over the crib, liked to suck her thumb and the nanny did her job well.

They had been good people. He only ever had destroyed good people.

His head throbbed and he let it fall back onto his arms. The baby was swimming in front of his vision and there was blood everywhere, on his face, on his hands…his hands were coated with blood and not just this families. His heart rate began to spike, but there was so much blood. He was drowning in it.

"Steve…" he must have moaned out the word because Steve was suddenly back, rubbing his arm and pressing the glass closer to him. He was still talking to Tony, and he sounded annoyed which wasn't unusual when the two were together.

"No, Tony, listen, not right now." He could just hear Steve saying around his memories of all the good people he could remember killing. "Bucky is…No, Tony, he is not doing fine, thank you for your concern, though. Tony!" Steve sighed heavily, moving to grab Bucky's hand and encircling his fingers around the glass.

"I'll be right back, Buck, I swear," and then Steve was gone again, presumably to solve whatever argument or problem he was having with Tony.

Bucky could feel his heart rate accelerating until it actually hurt to take a breath. He was fine. He could feel sweat building across his body. He was fine. He felt like he was drowning, he couldn't breathe, couldn't—

The glass exploded in his hand with an earsplitting crack, almost like a bullet. Like the bullets he had constantly fired, that he had constantly taken lives with, that—

He was on the floor he didn't even know how he had gotten there but there he was, surrounded by shards of glass. It was everywhere, in his hair, in his clothes, in his skin. His head and heart were pounding painfully fast, he couldn't think, but he was fine. He knew that instinctively.

Steve's pounding feet could be heard and his heart rate notched up. He shouldn't have broken the glass, he shouldn't have had the glass, that wasn't his privilege, he needed to fix this.

The trembling in his limbs had increased but his metal hand was as steady as ever and he began to scramble to pick up the splintered pieces of glass with it, placing them in his flesh one.

"Hey! Bucky, Bucky, no, it's alright," Steve was abruptly kneeling right in front of him, hands pressed against his face. "Hey, Buck, don't worry about that. I can grab a broom..."

Bucky was frozen, he couldn't move, couldn't talk to Steve, couldn't respond, could only pick up a glass.

Steve closed a hand around his metal wrist, stopping the atomic movement.

"Hey, Buck, I need you to talk to me, you're scaring me, buddy."

Bucky couldn't help but bow his head, shaking and sweating.

"I'm fine…" he mumbled. He was alive, he still had the chance to live and make mistakes.

His heart was beating too fast, Steve's face was swirling in front of him, he felt like he was going to throw up again.

Steve's hand came up, cupping his cheek and Bucky clung to it like his last remaining link to reality and then he let go and went somewhere where he didn't have to think about anything.

%

"No, Tony…." Steve felt like he had said that phase much more than he ever should have been able to in the last five minutes. He liked Tony, he really did. He appreciated what Tony could do, he did, but that man knew how to drive him up the wall faster than anyone.

"Steve…" the weak, an almost desperate calling of his name had him looking over his shoulder and heading back towards the kitchen. Bucky was slumped against the table, pale and shaking. He hadn't touched the glass and his eyes were glazed over. Not a good sign.

"No, Tony, listen, not right now." He reached out, rubbing Bucky's arm."Bucky is…No, Tony, he is not doing fine, thank you for your concern, though." He did appreciate the man's concern, but he really just wanted to take to the man later when Bucky wasn't in the middle of this. "Tony!" he exclaimed, trying to get the man to shut up. He moved the glass closer to Bucky, moving his lax metal hand to wrap around the glass.

"I'll be right back, Buck, I swear," Steve whispered, before taking his argument into the next room, it wouldn't do it upset Bucky any more than he already had.

"Tony, listen, can't this be resolved in a little bit. Bucky…Yes, I know that. What, wait? Is this about a movie! Tony…"

Something exploded in the kitchen and Steve jumped, automatically crouching and covering his head. He looked around, already reaching for his shield before realizing that it more than likely had been Bucky.

"Got to go." He ended the call making a dash to the kitchen.

Bucky was hunched over on the floor, glass everywhere.

"Hey, Bucky…Bucky, it's alright." His friend was methodically picking up pieces of glass and he knelt down next to him after sweeping some of it away with his foot. "Hey don't worry, about that. I can get a broom."

Bucky only continued to scramble for the shards and Steve gently grasped the metal hand, stilling its movements. Bucky wasn't responding to him, that wasn't good. He continued to try and draw his attention but it only seemed like he was losing him further.

"Buck, please, talk to me."

"I'm fine." Steve blinked in surprise and quickly smiled even if inside he was snorting in disbelief. Bucky was so far from fine that it wasn't even funny.

"Good, I'm glad to hear that! Can you tell me what you are thinking?" His smile fell almost as quickly as it had started. Bucky had begun to rock back and forth, muttering something over and over again under his breath.

"Can you speak up? I can't hear you, buddy." Steve wasn't really hoping for an answer. Bucky was gone.

That wasn't going to stop him from trying, Steve had never backed down from a fight and Bucky's fight was one that he wasn't about to lose. He bent forward, leaning closer in an attempt to hear what Bucky was saying.

"I'm fine…" Just the two words, over and over again. Steve frowned, touching Bucky's clammy cheek gently. A piece of glass had lodged itself in Bucky's shirt and Steve plucked it lose, tossing it into the trash. Other shards of it glinting in his friend's hair and on his clothes, catching the light just right.

"Alright. Alright…come on." Steve hooked his arms under Bucky's pulling him easily to his feet. Bucky followed like a limp puppet that Steve held the strings and together Steve pointed them to the living room.

Flicking on the light with his shoulder, he gently eased Bucky into the worn cushions of the brown couch.

"Oh, Buck. You cut yourself." Steve crouched down in front of him, noticing for the first time the blot of red darkening Bucky's arm. Bucky's constant spillage of 'I'm fine' stuttered for a moment before picking up again.

"I don't think there is any glass in it, though," Steve commented more to himself than his friend as he examined the cut. "Be right back." Standing once again, he froze, eyes widening.

"Bucky! Let me see your hand!" Bright red blood was oozing out from in between Bucky's tightly clenched flesh hand and slowly dripping down into his lap. Catching his friend's hand in his, Steve pried the bloodied fingers open and swore softly.

Bucky had been collecting the shards of glass in his hand and now it was all embedded in his skin. Steve swore softly again, bending down to peer more closely at the wounds. Glass gleamed ruby in the blood, glittering gems in the flesh.

"Don't close that hand," Steve ordered, hurrying to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom.

Bucky hadn't moved and his palm lay open, blood pooling in it.

It took Steve over an hour to pick all the small pieces of glass out of Bucky's skin before he could wash and bandage it. By that time, Bucky's voice had faltered though his lips hadn't and he remained staring blankly ahead and mouthing the words.

"There you go," Steve murmured gently as he squeezed the now bandaged hand gently in his. "What do we say we put that one movie in that Clint and Tony keep telling me is criminal that I haven't shown you. I thought it was slightly strange, but they keep insisting that it is a classic and that they are going to kidnap you to the tower until you have seen that one and any other they think you need to see." He humped a laugh, standing gingerly and headed towards the TV.

Sometimes the best thing to do when Bucky got like this was just ride it out and try the small things that would sometimes snap him out of it. Movies were on of them. Bucky loved movies (much to Clint and Tony's glee). Steve wasn't sure what exactly it was, whether it was ability to focus on something else for a short while or the fanatical imagines that the newer ones conjured and the different worlds that it helped him escape to. Or, Steve secretly thought, it was because Bucky had always been a bit of a nerd.

Bucky loved movies (much to Clint and Tony's glee). Steve wasn't sure what exactly it was, whether it was ability to focus on something else for a short while or the crazy and intense imagines that the newer ones conjured or the different worlds that it helped him escape to. Steve secretly thought it was because Bucky had always been a bit of a nerd.

Plopping down on the couch next to Bucky, he fumbled with one of the blankets that had ended up on the floor sometime over the last few days and wrapped it around Bucky's shoulders.

Steve spent more time watching Bucky worriedly than looking at the screen. Bucky remained to stare at nothing, hardly blinking, completely lost in his mind. After an hour of this Steve go up from the couch.

"I need to make a call," he said, squeezing Bucky's shoulder.

Closing the door of the small office that he liked to draw in so that the sounds of the movie wouldn't transfer, he pulled out his cell. He had two missed calls from Tony and three from Sam.

After one ring, Sam answered, sounding worried. "He isn't throwing another raging fit, is he?"

"No, no, nothing like that, this is worse."

"Define worse. Last time I thought you broke a rib or two. As well as your face." Steve opened the door again, unable to help but check in on Bucky. He was right where he had left him. Sam's sigh over the line came out with a crackle. "We here worried. Tony called me after you hung up on him and if you hadn't called or texted back within the next hour, we were going to come break down the door."

"Oh." Was all Steve could think to say. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you guys."

"I know."

This time was Steve that sighed. "I'm fine, but Bucky is in one of his zonings out phases and…and I don't know. It is starting to scare me." Steve couldn't keep the concern out of his voice and he found himself subconsciously chewing on his lip.

"I'll be there in twenty," was all Sam said. Steve once more felt an overwhelming surge of thankfulness for the other man.

Going back to sit next to Bucky, he wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Sam is on the way." Bucky still mouthing his refrain of 'I'm fine' and Steve ran a hand over his own face tiredly. "Snap out of it, would you, Bucky?" he asked helplessly, "You're making me worried, buddy."

He sighed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, running a hand through his friend's messy hair. "You're not fine…"

When Sam arrived he didn't bother with knocking and just came right in.

"How are you doing?" he asked as he threw his jacket across the back of the stuffed, flower printed chair.

Steve stared blankly at him, before glancing back at Bucky, who hadn't even acknowledged the presence of someone else.

"I'm fine," he said as he raised his eyebrows pointedly.

"Just checkin' in." Sam shrugged, moving to crouch in front of Bucky. "Hey, Bucky, how you doing?" After a moment of awkward silence, Sam straightened up.

"What's he mouthing?" he asked, squeezing in next to Steve on the couch.

" 'I'm fine', don't ask me why. He's been like this since about," Steve checked his watch, "12:30."

"What happened?"

Steve sighed. "We had a rough night. He woke up about midnight, 1ish, and just had a full out episode. He was sick, he couldn't stop shaking, couldn't focus, all that good stuff." Sam nodded. "And I thought he had snapped out of it, but looking back I don't think he ever really did. He must have remembered something pretty bad."

Sam listened intently, eyes focused in on Steve.

"Man, I think the only thing to do is what we have always done. We all just have to ride this out. Bucky will snap out of it when he is ready and not a moment before that."

Steve sighed, running a hand roughly through his hair.

"But—Sam, he's been sitting here just saying that 'I'm fine' again and again. That isn't normal." The movie drowned on the background, lightening up the room in flashing bouts of color. Sam watched for a minute, rubbing a hand against his chin.

"Bucky's always going to be throwing curves at us, Steve. No one has ever been through what he has. We just have to roll with the punches as they come." He scratched his ear, turning his attention back to Steve.

"But why 'I'm fine'? "Steve stared at Bucky, continuing to run his hand gently through his friend's hair. Sam shrugged again, before getting to his feet. For that, he had no answer.

"Well, I'm going to make some coffee. You want some?"

"Yeah," Steve said absentmindedly.

After the movie ended, Sam convinced Steve to lay Bucky down on the couch. They made him as comfortable as possible and headed towards the kitchen.

"How you doing, for real?" Sam asked as he settled himself down at the table. Steve had collected the broom and was working on sweeping up the glass. Steve didn't answer until he also was sitting down, nursing his own mug.

"I don't know," he said, at last, rubbing his head. "I—" he trailed off. "It's just that seeing Bucky suffer, seeing all that he has suffered, seeing all of this mess that we are in….and I feel relief. Relief that I have him back and then all I can feel is guilt."

His hands were shaking by the time he finished and he took a hasty sip of coffee. He refused to look at Sam and instead leaned back into his chair until he could see the outline of the couch. "He can hardly get even three good hours of sleep anymore and…and as I sit next to him and see firsthand," he broke off, blinking rapidly.

Sam was silent, thoughtfully stirring his coffee as he gave Steve the space he needed to compose himself. When Steve exhaled a little less shakily and turned to face him again, he leaned forward. Pushing his mug aside he folded his arms and looked Steve dead in the eyes.

"Don't do this to yourself, man. Don't do it. First off, I'm sensing a lot more than relief. A blind man could see you feel guilty about it and never mind the worry you pack around.

"Second, it, it makes sense, Steve, the relief. You two grew up together, practically out of each other's back pockets. The only times you guys were not, from what I understand, is when you were touring the US and after you woke up."

Steve snorted, stirring his coffee. Sam ignored him.

"You were struggling to survive without him, you didn't really know how to not have him be constantly at your shoulder. And you were learning, you were. You were doing fine and adapting, but to have him come back from the dead like that? Life handed you a rough deal, but you got this one, bright, spot back. What else were you suppose to feel, man?" He leaned back, satisfied with his speech.

Steve scoffed. "I don't know how about grief for what he had to go through, for what he was forced to do. He would have preferred death."

"He probably would have. What happened to him was terrible and horrible and something that no one deserved, but it happened. It is time to heal from that and move forward with what you have. You can't change the past no matter how much you would like too." Sam stopped for a minute, studying Steve. "It is ok to be relieved that he is alive, Steve, it really is."

Steve glanced back at the couch once more, emotions battling on his face.

"I'm still going to burn all of Hydra to the ground," he said darkly. "As soon as Bucky's doing better, there won't be a hole big enough to hide them." The furious, burning, anger across his face was terrifying and Sam was glad not for the first time that Captain America was on their side.

"Dude, I wasn't expecting any less."

%

Bucky knew distantly that he was worrying Steve. He knew that he had him worried enough to call Sam, but he didn't care. Some old part who use to be Bucky told him that wasn't what friends did.

Friend. He still wasn't exactly sure what that all detailed, Hydra hadn't exacted programmed that into him. In general, his people and social skills were lacking. Hydra just caught him to kill people and that didn't involve how to be friends with the first.

"I'm fine…" he found himself muttering again almost unconsciously.

…A bullet through the chest of a European leader.

He was fine. His victims were not.

The distant, flashing lights that were whatever movie Steve put it in slowly registered as well Steve talking to Sam as he gently ran his fingers through his hair.

Respond, you idiot! You're fine!

A knife to the heart of an old man... blood gushing across his fingers.

But Bucky couldn't, his victims wouldn't let him. After a while of Sam talking to Steve, his friend took his shoulder, pushing him to lie back. They covered him with more blankets and slide a pillow under his head and moved into the kitchen.

He could hear their soft voices and the occasional clink of a glass on wood.

Bucky closed his eyes, trying to block everything out and go back to whatever place he had been. He wasn't strong enough to face this.

Steve would tell that he was, he would look him right in the eye and say,

"Buck, it wasn't your fault. None of it, do you understand? Everything is on Hydra. You broke your programming, you left Hydra, you are still alive… you can do anything!"

Bucky wouldn't believe him, but it still made him feel…warm inside. He felt the ghost what must have once been a smile cross his face. Just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. He didn't get to feel happy, or warm, or alright. He was fine, he was alive, and that was what he should be grateful for.

Somewhere a family was mourning because of him, because of what he did.

"Hey, Buck?" Steve was talking to him again, using that calming voice that meant everything would be alright. But everything wasn't alright, not for that man whose name he couldn't remember. Steve kept talking but he stopped paying attention to anything besides the warmth and kindness in the voice.

A gentle hand pressed against his forehead and he let it remain there even though he felt himself tensing. Curse Hydra all the way to the darkest pits of hell. The hand stayed for a few moments longer, the voice still speaking to him. He let it wash over him in his half daze, reality mixing with memories of more victims, mostly old but some new.

Steve stayed with him for a long time. He heard Sam come and sit in the chair and once again some show or movie started playing, then darkness filled the room. He heard Sam trying to talk Steve into doing something that Steve didn't want to do.

Good luck doing that, I haven't had any luck with that in over 90 years. He's a stubborn stupid fool.

Steve won. Steve didn't leave. Steve stayed right there next to him. A blanket was pulled higher across his shoulders and then eventually they stopped talking and everything went still.

Bucky remained awake in the stillness, alone with his victims and sometimes Steve or some other odd memory from before. They were lights in the darkness of his mind and he treasured every single one. Even the bad ones, like when the MacHides girl had crushed his heart, or when his ma had been disappointed in him, or even when he had had been hunting down Hydra with the rest of the Howling Commandos.

The metal hand wrapped around someone's throat, a passerby who had caught him in the act.

Steve blushing bright red as his team of men tease him mercilessly about his crush on Peggy.

A bullet to the back.

Bucky dancing as Steve grouchily watched. Bucky and Steve fighting later about something small, but they were both tired and nothing had gone as they thought it would so everything had been blown out of proportion. They didn't make up for almost a week that time, but they had in the end.

A girl screaming, a man screaming, a child screaming...

Steve smiling at him, telling him that it would all be okay and that he didn't hate him.

A boy dying, a woman screaming the screams weren't going to stop, they just kept and going, and going...

The screaming wouldn't stop echoing around his head. It just kept going and going, endlessly, one long…

Suddenly everything around him slid back into focus with the force of a punch. The living room was filled with the pale light of morning and the smell of coffee. He was curled up on the couch and the pounding of rushing feet could be heard coming towards him. The scream was still there, alive, unforgettable, ringing in his ears…

And that was when he realized that he was one screaming. He drew in a deep breath, forcing himself to stop.

"Bucky?" Steve was in front of him, hands on his face and using his calm/worried voice. "Hey, pal, can you take a deep breath for me?" They locked eyes and Steve smiled in that annoying way of his and repeated his question. His fingers pressed a more firmly against his face as a silent plea.

Bucky took in a shuddering gasp of air, wheezing around it.

"That's it, just keep breathing and you'll be fi…" Steve trailed off abruptly and instead smiled a little wider.

"Steve?" Bucky questioned rather pathetically in his mind once he had enough air to do so.

"Yeah, Buck?" Bucky didn't answer, instead closing his eyes and sinking into the couch, exhausted. "You are with me again?" Steve asked casually despite the abrupt tightness in his voice. Bucky nodded tiredly and Steve got up from his crouched position. Lightly tapping Bucky's bare ankle he nodded his head, "Budge over, would ya." Bucky complied and Steve sank down next to him.

Bucky exhaled shakily mopped at the sweat beading his brow.

"What…how long?" he asked, shifting into a sitting position and clearing his throat.

"Since you zoned all the way out? Since yesterday afternoon and it is…a little before Eight now." Bucky barely blinked. That wasn't what he wanted to hear, but he had done worse. "Sam came over about 3:00."

"Where is he now?"

"Showering. He stayed the night and went for our run this morning." Steve glanced at Bucky out of the corner of his eye, juggling his next question.

"Did you go?"

"Uh, no. I didn't want you to come to by yourself."

Bucky scoffed. "I would have been fine, Steve."

Steve almost managed to hide his wince at the words and he fell silent.

"Buck…" Steve sounded tired and Bucky glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "I'm- I'm here for you, you know that right?" Bucky wanted to snort but that would take too much effort. Of course, he knew that. Steve was the first soul in a long, long, time to treat him like he was a person instead of a thing and he hadn't stopped. He dropped whatever he was doing if Bucky needed him to, and even if he didn't. Steve was his constant.

He settled for simply nodding, all that was too much to put into words at this moment. Steve sighed again, running a hand through his already ruffled hair.

"You can talk to me, or to Sam, or to any of the Avengers. I'm not going hate you or-or judge you, Bucky, for anything that happened. No one will. You are a good person, Hydra didn't change that! You are just as much as the victim as anyone else." He was looking so hopeful and eager to help that Bucky had to look away, focusing in the blanket that was clumped in his fingers.

"But I'm fine," he whispered. He drew his knees up against his chest , wrapping his arms around his legs and letting his chin rest them. Steve heaved out a breath, rubbing his face.

"No, you're not," he said bluntly. The words felt good to finally say but Bucky flinched, keeping his eyes focused on his hands. "I just don't understand. Why on earth do you think that you are that one that is fine in all this? Please help me understand…" Steve couldn't help it, he needed to press on the subject. They had already given Bucky space.

Bucky didn't answer but Steve waited.

"I'm…" he began, at last, voice cracking and he halted taking several deep breaths. "I'm…" Bucky couldn't get past the first word and to his utter embarrassment, he felt tears threatening. They weren't for him, they were for the family that had been lost, that he had killed. He blinked rapidly, fighting it. "I'm…"

Steve simply waited.

Bucky glanced at him before his eyes snapped back to his hands. "Alive," he finally managed to croak out. "I'm alive." Steve blinked in surprise.

"You're alive? Your fine because you are still alive?!" He wanted to scream at Bucky that if anything he had it worse than them. At least their pain had stopped, he doubted Bucky's ever would. There was movement at the opening to the kitchen and he glanced up. Sam was there, leaning against the wall and shaking his head as if he was reading exactly what was going through Steve's head.

He could almost hear Sam telling him over and over again, Validate his feelings and thoughts, they may not be what you think is best, they might even seem messed up.

Taking a deep breath he washed a hand over his face before starting over. Bucky was still not looking at him.

"I guess I can understand that," he said softly, glancing back at Sam. "But I also don't think you should," he paused, trying to get his tongue and brain to connect and form what he wanted to say. "I don't think you should, should value your loss any less." He finally settled on. He shook his head, annoyed with it. It didn't sound right or what Bucky needed.

He looked to Sam again, but he wasn't offering anything up.

"You both lost a lot. You and them. But it isn't on you, it wasn't your fault, everything, everything is on Hydra."

Bucky shook his head, still refusing to meet his eyes.

"But I am alive," he repeated. Steve shifted next to him.

"Yes, you are." And oh how sickeningly grateful he was for it. "Yes, but you lost as well, more than I think we could have ever imagined. It-It is alright to mourn for what happened to you, for what you lost."

Bucky didn't say anything and Steve shifted closer until they were pressed side by side and laid an arm across his shoulders.

"It really is alright, it is." Bucky gave a small minute shake of head and Steve slowly nodded. "And if it isn't right now, then that is ok. It will get better, I promise. We will fight this, together. Just like we fought in the old days when we were nothing more than just two boys from Brooklyn whose biggest worry was putting the rent together. I'm with you, you don't have to face this alone." Bucky hunched forward, what sounded like a low sob escaping his throat.

"Bucky?"

"There was a baby, Steve," he finally managed around the huge lump in his throat. "A baby." He finally raised his eyes to meet Steve's revealing the tears that were starting to trickle down his sunken cheeks. These blue eyes were dull, haunted and anguished and Steve felt his stomach hit the floor.

Oh, this, this wasn't good.

"That's" Steve quickly cleared his throat, "It's alright. It will be alright. It wasn't your fault." He swallowed thickly and laid his head against Buckys. His friend tried to say something else, but all that came out was a strange choking sound and Steve held him closer, his heart breaking.

"Shh…It's ok, it wasn't your fault," he found himself murmuring into Bucky's hair as he lightly rocked them back and forth. Bucky was trembling against him and his hands came up to cling to Steve's arms as tears worked a steady path down his face.

They remained that way for a long time. Sam left after making sure Steve was ok and had everything under control, heading into the kitchen or to the office to give the two friends privacy.

"Can I get you anything?" Steve asked softly once Bucky's sobs had turned into great shuddering breaths. He felt Bucky shake his head.

"I-I just want to go back to my room," he whispered. That was code, Steve had learned, for 'I am exhausted and really just want to sleep but can't/won't."

"We can do that," Steve agreed easily, smiling. Together, they made for a room, Steve insisted on a short detour to the kitchen to force a glass of water and a bowl of oatmeal into him.

"Sam and I are going to be around so don't hesitate to call if you need anything." Steve more of ordered than asked as he watched Bucky sink onto the edge of the bed, looking spent.

"Go." Bucky waved him away. He didn't doubt that Steve would be back to check on him soon enough as it was. He flopped back on the bed, flinging a hand over his face. "Get outa here, you punk," he added at the spur of the moment just to see Steve's eyes light up. Oh, how he needed to see that...

He waited until Steve had left before sliding off the bed and padding to the opposite corner of the room. There was a loose floorboard there, and underneath that was his most treasured procession. Notebooks. Taking out his latest, he unfolded a loose slip of paper.

Written neatly and orderly were the names of his victims, so that he could remember and honor them. Putting the pen to the paper he wrote slowly and clearly.

Father, loved his wife. Liked wine.

Mother, loved her child. Like parties.

Anna. Baby. Sucked her thumb.

The nanny, devoted to her work.

He simply held the paper for a minute, letting sadness wash over him. It was so little to remember them but, but at least it was something. And then he nestled them with great care back into their home. He would remember them, but he would do his best to bury them.

Crawling back into bed he stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the exhaustion to claim him at last.

%

"He sleeping?" Sam's question made Steve jump and he turned around like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Yeah, I think." He eased the door shut. Bucky had been alone in the room for almost an hour now, but it appeared as if he had managed to finally drop off into a restless sleep. At least for the moment, everything was peaceful and calm.

"You want to go out for a run or something? Or go down to that coffee house down the street? I'll pay." Steve asked and Sam smiled.

" You promised me dinner and I had to cook for myself last night, so yes, you are. And you owe me like, another three cups." He was already moving away to grab his jacket which was swung over the back of a chair. Steve moved to grab his shoes, smirking.

"I was going to order Pizza, that only buys you one cup. Tough luck."

"Keep telling yourself that." Sam opened the door, waiting for Steve to grab his wallet. His friend paused, glancing back towards the cracked bedroom door.

"Steve, he'll be fine," he said quietly, nodding his head towards the door. "Give him some space. We won't be more than an hour and he looked pretty exhausted. I wouldn't be surprised if he is still asleep when we get back."

Steve nodded slowly, his eyes still on the door. And then he smiled and turned to leave with Sam, closing the door with a snap behind them.

THE END

Well, that was long. :)

I hope you enjoyed and please feel free tell me anything, the good and the bad! I would really appreciate hearing what you think.

Thank you!