Steve pressed his lips to Bucky's forehead and held him cradled and silent for a while, secured against him, the sense of safety passing from Bucky to him and back again, enveloping them both; he could feel it in the way the tension drained out of Bucky's shoulders and his body leaned more heavily into Steve's. And he could sense, too, Bucky's uncertainty, the way he met that feeling of safety, the connection between them warily, as though it was something he wasn't sure he could believe in or would deserve even if he did. Steve didn't know how much Bucky could feel from him, but he tried to just...project warmth and security and love, to pass these things to him in his embrace and his lips brushing his forehead and the steady beat of his heart.

"I don't know, Buck. Does it really matter?" Steve could have tried to describe to him what it felt like to watch him fall from the train, what it felt like to wake up in the twenty-first century with the knowledge that everyone he loved was gone or moved on without him. He had loved Bucky even if he hadn't been bonded to him. Maybe having back what was left of him should have been another wound, but it wasn't. "You're here, and that's enough. I'm going to take you home, and if I can, I'll try to make you happy, too." His fingers brushed tenderly at a strand of hair that was falling over Bucky's eyes, tucked it back behind his ear. "I feel like we could be. We could be more than just a couple of broken men."