It was freezing cold and the height of winter when Steve and Sam had tracked Bucky down to a long row of disused warehouses in the north of Russia. Daylight only just managed to slither its way through the thick grey blanket of clouds that hung low in the sky and an icy wind bit at their cheeks, rouging them.
As they patrolled the side of the buildings, a dull metallic glint caught Steve's eye, shining like a miniature beacon from the back corner of one of the spaces.
"Sam." he whispered, gesturing for him to come back from where he lead in front and follow him into the dull red warehouse, on which the paint had been worn away by the harsh weather, faded with time, and the massive sliding door, which was half open, had begun to rust on the edges and it squeaked when Steve strained to push it open. When the door was fully open, both of the men walked in slowly, on their guard at all times from anticipation of an attack or an ambushing, but there was nothing. No HYDRA, no guards, no enemies, just Bucky, sat with his legs spread out in front of him, back against the wall and a clamp that had been welded to the floor holding his metal arm down, his right arm lay limp next to him. He wore a red shirt with three buttons at the collar, all undone, and the sleeves pushed up. His head was hanging across his left shoulder causing his dirty brown hair to fall in front of his face. From the outside of the warehouse, it looked like he was sleeping, uncomfortably, albeit, but sleeping none the less, but as Steve approached steadily, he saw that Bucky wasn't sleeping at all. He was watching him with a wary eye as he crossed the floor towards him. The Captain's footsteps didn't echo thanks to the lack of his uniform boots. In fact he wasn't wearing uniform at all, but a simple white t-shirt and blue jeans with a grey hoodie and blue baseball cap. He had hoped that this would help to keep his old friend calm and stop him from attacking him, but, in his current state, it didn't seem like Bucky was capable of attacking.
When he was close enough to be able to see the small stone resting loosely in Bucky's open right hand and the writing that had been carved, rough and messy, into the cold metal wall next to him, Steve spoke.
"Bucky?" and the Winter Soldier lifted his head slightly, recognising something in his name. Deep down inside of him, something stirred. A memory. A warm bed, a small boy curled up in his hold, his right arm draped over him, messy blond hair, sunlight creeping through slightly open curtains. With no response from Bucky externally, Steve moved closer still, this time observing the words on the wall instead of the dark bags under his friend's eyes. They didn't seem to make sense. Seemingly random words scrawled in erratic patterns, no order except a few.
"Longing... Rusted... Seventeen... Daybreak... Furnac-"
"Don't." This was the first reaction Steve had gotten from Bucky since he'd walked in and it shocked him. He shot Sam, who was stood at a distance with his arms folded across his chest, a confused look and Sam shrugged, just as unsure as Steve was.
"What do they mean?" the Captain said, pointing to the words
"I don't-" Bucky muttered "Just, don't. Don't say them. Please." He seemed desperate to drop the subject, so Steve did because he saw Bucky's painful expression and didn't want to hurt his friend. Instead, he said
"Do you remember me?"
"Yes." Bucky said in a low, gravely voice
"What do you remember about me?"
"You're mom was called... Sarah." he seemed out of breath when he spoke, but this was for good reason. Memories were flooding back to him more and more every time Steve spoke, so fast that they were almost winding him.
"Yeah, she was. Do you remember my name?" this was genuinely hard for Steve to watch. He was so scared that he wouldn't remember anything of their childhood or what they were.
"Y-you're- you're Steve, right?" he said, lifting his head up straighter and looking up at Steve through his hair
"Yeah, yeah I am-" from here, the memories came quick fire.
"We went to Coney Island once. You threw up. I bought you a bag of cotton candy to make up for it. You had to buy clothes from the kids store because you were so small. And you wore newspaper in your shoes because they never had any in your size. You used to sleep at my house. We used to sleep in my bed together because you were never warm enough on your own. I kissed you for the first time in December. We didn't tell anyone. We didn't need to. As long as we knew, that was enough. I loved you."
"Yeah," Steve said as he now began to cry, "Yeah. That's right. We didn't think anyone would approve so we kept it to ourselves." he added, aiding Bucky in remembering, smiling at the memory of when everything was simple and nothing came between them.
"I still love you..." When Bucky said this Steve couldn't help himself. He flung himself down onto the floor and wrapped his arms around Bucky as soon as he could reach him, tears streaming down his face and falling softly onto Bucky's shoulder, turning the fabric darker where they hit. Tentatively, Bucky dropped the stone from his right hand and wrapped his only free arm around Steve, pulling him in closer, closing his eyes and breathing in his musky scent, trusting himself enough to rest his head on the side of Steve's. After a few minutes of embracing, Steve called Sam over to help him unwind the clamp and free his left arm, hushing him and frantically telling him that everything was going to be ok, that he was safe now.
This was it, Bucky decided. If nothing else happened. If he couldn't be saved, if he couldn't escape HYDRA's hold on him, it didn't matter. This was all he needed. Steve. Whatever memories came back to him now were a bonus, but as far a Bucky was concerned, Steve was his memories. Steve was his everything.
