Bucky sat on the couch. His head hung low. He was sat in Stark Tower, but not just in Stark Tower; he was in Steve's room, a room they now shared.

Steve. It was a name that he couldn't believe he ever forgot. He was his best friend, and he forgot him. He almost killed him. On the bridge. In the plane. He could've left him to drown, but he didn't. His face was too... familiar. It was something that the soviets could never take from him. Something he would never let them have. The chance that he may see his best friend again.

Steve was currently downstairs bickering with Tony. Again. It took much convincing for Tony to agree to have Bucky stay here, and he reluctantly agreed only because Steve was the one person who could pull Bucky back when things went sideways. Things just always had to go sideways.

He trudged into the bathroom and placed a hand on each side of the sink. He looked up and all he saw was a killer. A cold-blooded assassin. He didn't see the brave soldier that Steve always said he was. He didn't see the fun-loving goofball or the caring best friend. He saw only the deaths caused by his own hands. His hands; one was now metal. A permanent reminder of the soviets, and what they had turned him into. The Winter Soldier. He could hear them now. They were taunting him. 

Zhelaniye... "No... Please no..." He whispered.

Rzhavyy... He pulled his hands up to his head and placed them over his ears; hoping to drown out the voices, but they only grew louder, harsher.

Semnadtsat, rassvet, pech'... "Screw you!"

Devyat', dobroserdechnyy, vozvrashcheniye na rodinu, odin... "No!" He squeezed his eyes shut so tightly that tears formed under the pressure that he had forced upon his tear ducts.

Gruzovoy vagon! "SHUT UP!" His non-dominant fist flew up and crashed into the mirror; causing a flare of pain to shoot through his knuckles and up to his wrist. "Fuck..." he choked as more tears rolled down his face. He looked down at his fist and noticed that his pale knuckles were painted with harsh shades of purple and blue. Dark crimson flowed out on top of it all. Why he hadn't used his robotic fist; he had no clue, but he was glad he didn't otherwise he probably would have gone through the whole wall. He could see that the veins in his eyes were bright red and his breathing was panicked. Tears flowed faster and he squeezed his eyes shut so he didn't have to look at his face anymore. He wasn't Bucky. Bucky was always put together. Bucky was strong, and smart, and kind, and he would never have killed innocent people. He hated himself. He hated himself so much. He wished he could just leave. Be done with himself, but he had to stay... for Steve.

As if on cue; the elevator dinged and he could hear the sliding of the doors before a worried Steve emerged and frantically searched the room with his eyes. 

"Bucky! Where are you?"

"In here." He answered hoarsely. He was trembling, and he couldn't tell if it was from the panic attack, or his recently broken hand. 

Steve practically ran to his aid and placed his hand on Bucky's hunched back. He took in the sight around him, and his breath hitched, "Buck..." he started, "Buddy what happened?"

"I... I don't know... Steve, I don't know." He sobbed.

Steve used his strong arms to pull Bucky around so he faced him and he pulled him into his chest tightly. "Shhhhh Buck it's okay... It's all okay now."

"I can still hear them," his voice was muffled by the cotton of Steve's shirt, "I can hear their voices. They want... they want me to hurt you. All of you. I can't- I can't trust myself, Steve!" He pulled away harshly and hissed as he had pushed away with his injured hand. 

 Steve's expression transitioned from hurt to worried. "Aw Buck, what did you do to yourself?"

"I didn't- it wasn't-... I don't know..." He sniffed.

Steve pursed his lips and gingerly grabbed Bucky's hand. He shifted as if to protest, but one glare from Steve was all he needed to know that he would not be successful in refusing his help.

He traced his eyes along the bruised knuckles. There were shiny pieces of glass stuck in the cuts. He made note of that and moved on. His fingers were definitely broken; all except for his pinky and his thumb. He couldn't tell just with his eyes if the wrist was broken or not, so he placed one finger on each side of the bone, and a sharp intake of breath on Bucky's side confirmed that it was in fact broken as well. "Sit." He pointed towards the edge of the bathtub and Bucky did as he said. He didn't have the energy nor the will to argue at the moment. As soon as Steve knew he was situated, he opened the cupboard and brought out a small first aid kit. He put the seat down on the toilet and sat so he was facing his friend. He pulled out a bottle of disinfectant and a piece of gauze as well. "May I have your hand?" He asked softly; his doctor voice setting in. He never was a doctor, but he naturally had the mannerisms of one. Bucky silently obliged and held out his shaking hand for Steve to accept. Steve placed his palm underneath to hold it in place, and started to pick out the pieces of glass. There were a couple stubborn ones, and he ended up having to pull out the tweezers to dig them out. When he was finished with that; he picked up the bottle of disinfectant he had acquired earlier. "This is gonna hurt Buck."

"I've had worse Steve."

"I know." He poured a healthy amount onto his knuckles and quickly placed the gauze over it as Bucky grunted and bit his lip in pain. Steve looked up and saw that he had closed his eyes; obviously trying to think of anything else. "You alright pal?"

"Just peachy." He grimaced.

The side of Steve's mouth pulled up slightly. He was back to being his old sarcastic self. He grabbed a tensor bandage from the kit and wrapped it around the three fingers. He then continued to wrap it further up, around his knuckles and then finally ended on his wrist. He wrapped that using the rest of the roll and then tucked in the end. He let Bucky's hand go free, but he lightly guided it to ensure that it found a suitable resting place in his lap. "We're all done here." He announced. 

"Thanks, Steve." He said softly.

"No problem."

Bucky's eyes were fixed on the floor and after a minute, Steve placed a hand on his cheek and guided his face up so he could look him in the eye. "We're going to get through this, alright?"

Bucky had a hard time believing him. "Yeah.."

Steve sighed. "Can you come with me for a minute? I have something for you." 

Bucky's brows twisted into a look of confusion.

"What? It's nothing bad."

"Okay..." He allowed himself to be led out of the bathroom and he was instructed to sit on the couch. He did so, and Steve sat beside him. He placed his hand in his jacket pocket and turned to face Bucky. He took a deep breath and looked straight into his powder blue irises. "After you fell Buck, I looked for you. For days, for weeks. I never found anything. I should've looked harder, but I didn't." He admitted, ashamed.

"Steve, please. Don't blame yourself. Those guys were smart. If you didn't find me; it's because they made it impossible."

He gave him a forced, sad smile. "I-" he continued. "I never found you, but I did find this." He pulled his hand out of his pocket and he held out his fist between them. He opened his fingers slowly and Bucky gazed down at what rested in his palm. Two tags sat, bound by a single chain. Each tag had a name etched onto them. James B. Barnes. He pulled his eyes away from them, and allowed them to rest once again on Steve's eyes.

Steve continued, "Bucky. I have held onto these forever. They have been my good luck charm. They got me through everything. I thought maybe they could do the same for you. You could wear them, and they could serve as some sort of memory charm. If you ever have any doubt of who you are; look at these. Because in here," he placed his hand over Bucky's heart and it skipped a beat, "You are James Buchanan Barnes, and you are Steve Rogers' best friend. You are a hero, Buck. You are not what those monsters made you into. That was not your fault."

Bucky grabbed the chain from Steve's palm and placed it around his neck. "Thank you," his voice broke and this time he was the one to pull Steve into a monumental embrace. "Thank you so much," he said into his shoulder.

"You're welcome pal," he grinned happily, "Now let's do something about that hair kid. You look like a scruffy greaser."

He harshly pulled away from the hug. "Hey!" he flashed him his angry assassin eyes and Steve threw his hands up in mock surrender. 

"It's true Buck!"

He frowned, "Well you're not wrong... but you're still going to regret saying that!"

"And why is that?" he was grinning like an idiot.

"Because- because I said so!" He exclaimed, clearly flustered.

Steve crossed his arms, "You want a haircut, or not?"

"Fine..."

He clapped a hand on his shoulder. The one that was still flesh and bone. "Awe cheer up! I promise not to make you look too ridiculous." He had another glare fired his way, but his grin stood strong.

"Stop grinning like that! You know I can't be mad at you when you give me that look!" he complained. 

"That's the point Buck."