The way Bucky curled into him, making himself small and unthreatening in Steve's lap, was a little aching tug at his chest like someone pulling at a string tied around his heart. He didn't want his friend to do that--to put his head lower than Steve's, like he was one of the handlers who had probably insisted on the Winter Soldier's submission--but Steve wrapped him up unquestioningly in his arms regardless, kissing his hair and holding him close against him. What Bucky needed mattered more than what Steve felt; they had time to figure this out, time to come to being at ease with one another, to understand how to make their bond work. In this they were both completely out to sea, Steve thought ruefully, regretting that he didn't have the answers his friend sought.

"We'll work it out as we go," Steve said quietly, his voice a low rumble in the chest Bucky was curled against. He nosed at his friend's hair, rubbed his cheek at the top of his head like a cat seeking affection. "Let's start by looking after each other. Okay, Buck? If you're hungry or you're cold or you're scared--if there's something you need--tell me, please, so I can help. And I'll do the same." It was a bit of a struggle to promise that, Steve had always been so reluctant to rely on someone else, even his best friend--to lean his weight on another's shoulders. But it wasn't his pride that mattered anymore. He knew this much about bonds: Bucky couldn't be well unless Steve was, too. It was for both their sakes that he would have to ask for help when he needed it.