The buzzing intercom makes me jump to my feet. I retreated into the guestroom as I needed some time to make sense of the things Steve told me. The loud buzzer rips through the silence and gets the adrenaline flowing through my veins. Suddenly I'm on full alert. I walk over to the doorway and watch Steve use the intercom to find out more.

"You're always welcome. Come on up, Sam."

Sam... Does he mean Sam Wilson? Or is it a different Sam? I waver and remain near the doorway. Maybe Steve wants his privacy.

"You remember Sam, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. I destroyed his wings." And I still feel bad about that, but there's nothing I can do about it.

"Don't worry about that. Tony's already designing him new wings, stronger ones, which won't tear that easily."

I have no idea who this Tony is. I don't think I heard the name before, but I can't be sure about that. He gestures me to join him, so I walk up to him. I'll take my leads from him. A moment later the door opens and Sam moves inside. Yes, I remember the guy, which is a relief. It's odd that I haven't forgotten about him.

"Looking good!" Sam greets us and shakes Steve's hand enthusiastically.

He smiles at me as well, which unsettles me. What does he want from me?

"Are you interested in going for some coffee? I met a new barista at your coffee shop downstairs and you should try her coffee!"

"Are you interested in her or in the coffee?" Steve winks at him, walks toward the door, and picks up two coats.

He hands me one; I follow his example and put it on. It's a decent fit. Is he really leaving the apartment? Doesn't he know how dangerous it is to expose himself like that? Hydra will be there waiting for him.

"Coffee sounds great." Steve steps out into the corridor, closely followed by Sam. "Aren't you coming along, Buck?"

Do I really have to spell it out to him? "Hydra is waiting for you out there. Are you going to make it that easy for them?" How am I supposed to keep him safe on those streets?

"We can't hide in here, Buck. I'm not afraid of Hydra – not at the moment. We defeated them." I have no idea what he's talking about and Steve must have noticed, because he adds, "I'll tell you later. Just believe me when I say that Hydra's down for now."

I still don't believe it, but I can't let him go outside without me watching his back. That's my job. Don't ask me how I know that, I just do. I follow them toward the elevator, which we ride down. Now that we're approaching the exit, my nerves go wild. The street's full and busy when we step outside and there's no way I can scan the buildings for possible threats. The sheer number of people, the skyscrapers, the traffic noise, it all gets to me and I lean against the wall for support. Too much input – this is sensory overload.

"Bucky?"

Steve's hands settle on my shoulders and I force myself to look at him, as I know it will help me calm down. He looks calm and in control and I need to know he's in charge.

"I just need a moment," I whimper and try to recompose myself.

"What's happening?" Sam asks in a concerned tone.

How do I explain this to them?

"It's different when the Winter Soldier goes on a mission. He's used to this. I'm not... Sometimes I feel like I never really left that cryo tube." I didn't explain it right, but the words fail me. Thankfully the pressure in my head is lessening and I grow accustomed to the madness surrounding me. "I'm fine," I tell them once I feel more in control.

"We can go home," Steve offers, looking worried as well.

Although the offer is tempting, I can't accept it.

"No, we're doing this." Steve's right; we can't hide from this. If Hydra comes for us, we have to find a way to deal with them. Hiding isn't something Sergeant Barnes would do – I guess. Steve's reassuring nod tells me that it is the right decision to make.

"You're not alone in this." Steve promptly loops his arm with mine and pulls me along. "We're having some coffee and maybe we'll go for a stroll in the park. Does that sound doable?"

"We'll find out." I feel calmer now, probably because Steve is close. How can I possibly be of use to him should Hydra attack? What if I freeze up again? Without me noticing it, they maneuvered me into a coffee shop.

"Why don't you sit down?" Sam suggests. "And let us get your coffee."

"Nothing fancy though," Steve remarks. "I doubt he'll drink anything but Americano."

"Then that's what we're ordering. Just stay here. We'll be right back."

I watch Steve and Sam make their way over to the counter and place their order. Now that I'm inside I feel less crowded. It's worse out in the streets. They return a few minutes later, carrying two odd looking coffees and one plain one, which is hopefully meant for me.

"Here, you'll like it."

Steve puts the Americano in front of me and I mumble a thank you. Looking about, I realize it will be a long time before I feel comfortable leaving the apartment. This world is alien to me. This is something normal people do, not me.

"Care to tell me what's on your mind?" Sam asks, digging for more information.

"You probably do this every day," I start, not wanting to make myself vulnerable, but at the same time, this needs out. "This is normal to you, but it isn't for me. You don't know what my life was like with Hydra." To my surprise, Sam nods.

"You're right, and I bet you find it hard to talk to us about that. It's like that when you return from a war."

I shake my head at him. "You got it wrong. I didn't fight in a war. I killed innocent people because Hydra made me."

"Bucky, you were a prisoner of war for a long time. Sam is right about that. He's a counselor these days and tries to help veterans adjust to society."

Veterans? I'm no veteran. I'm an assassin! But they're right about one thing; I do find it hard, maybe even impossible, to talk about Hydra and specifically about what they did to me. Hell, I thought they created me until today.

"Here, this might help."

Sam puts a notebook onto the table and moves it toward me.

"A lot of veterans shut down when they should be sharing their pain. I've found that many of them prefer to write things down. That way, it remains private, but at the same time, writing it down helps you deal with it."

I look at him in confusion. "You want me to commit those horrors to paper?"

"Yes, I keep a diary too, actually," Steve says, backing his friend up. "It helps. I filled quite a number of notebooks that way. It helps, it really does."

"I also did that for a long time," Sam shares. "It helped me figure out how to deal with the PTSD."

I blink at him. "What?"

"Post traumatic stress disorder. Most soldiers, and thus veterans, suffer from it. Maybe writing it down will work for you too. If it doesn't, we will find something different," Sam says, looking hopeful the method will work.

"I'll give it a try." But mostly because I want to humor them. I don't really understand why they're going on about this PTSD-thing. They may suffer from it, but I highly doubt the same thing goes for me.

********************

"Are you okay with a walk in the park?"

I hate it that Steve feels the need to ask me that. I don't want to be a burden.

"I'll tag along." Not because I want to, but because I need to. I need to do this for Steve and for myself too. They're right; I can't let my fears get the better of me.

I expect the park to be crowded, but it's rather quiet, which suits me just fine. There are some mothers playing with their children, joggers pass us by, and I quickly check on them, just to make sure there are no Hydra agents amongst them. The sun is still high, but it's a cold day and I shiver. Steve walks over to a bench and sits down. Sam nods at me and I take the hint, sitting down as well. Just sitting here, watching people, and listening to the birds singing brings a sense of peace with it. I like it here – I didn't expect that. I can actually smell the grass which is still wet from the rain shower that happened earlier. Squirrels move about, looking for food and even giving me a hopeful look. I don't have any food on me though.

"I like it here." Steve says and looks at me. "It's quiet and peaceful. Sometimes I come down here to read a book or to watch people."

"I like it here too," I share, still feeling awkward about the whole situation I'm in. A man, dressed in shabby clothes and with a long beard, moves from one bench to the next, asking people something and I instantly grow alert, as it is odd behavior. Studying him, I realize he's limping. He's using a crutch, but it isn't helping. He's unsteady, and since the ground is wet, the crutch keeps slipping.

He turns and moves toward us now. I study the eyes. My handlers always told me to go for the eyes; they reveal fear, pain, or shock. Those eyes speak of pain and horror. They're haunted and I realize he is no threat. He addresses the two men sitting on the bench to our left, but they laugh at him and tell him off. I learned to lip read a long time ago; he told them he's a veteran and wondered if they could spare some change. All those men do is laugh at him though. Looking at Steve, I find him staring straight ahead, lost in his own world. Sam however, is watching me – too closely for my personal taste. I would rather ask Steve, but I don't want to intrude on his thoughts.

"I have no money, but I want to give him some. If you give me money, I'll pay you back – somehow."

Sam looks up in surprise, follows the direction of my stare, and notices the homeless veteran too. "Well, I'll be damned," he whispers.

I have no idea what he means by that, but I give him a pleading look. "He needs to eat, maybe find a warm place to sleep for the night."

"I'll handle it. I know places he can go. Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it."

The passion in his voice takes me aback. Sam gets to his feet, walks over the veteran, and starts to talk to him. The former soldier nods and then the two of them walk toward the exit of the park. Hopefully Sam is serious about wanting to help. That could have been me. If Steve hadn't forced me to come to the hospital with him I might have ended up on the streets like that.

"You're still you."

Steve's voice draws me back into the present and I cock my head at him. "I don't understand."

"You always wanted to help. That hasn't changed. You still care so much, Buck. Hydra couldn't change that."

I'm not so sure about that and stare at the ground. A squirrel races toward a tree and disappears between the branches.

"Those guys laughed at him. That soldier fought for their freedom. Why do they treat them like that? He has been to hell and back. I saw it in his eyes." I swallow hard; I saw the same look in Steve's eyes just now. He didn't escape without scars either. "I'm sorry –" But Steve shakes his head and cuts me short.

"You carry your share of scars too. Let's do this together, please."

Maybe he's right. Maybe Hydra scarred me too. I didn't notice it, but Steve is holding my hand again. The feel of his fingers and the warmth of his skin comforts me.

"I'll try," I give in. I'll do the best I can to ease his burden.

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