For worldwar

[disassembling]

It was clear that their time in any one place was limited, even after the struggle to get him free from the hydraulic machine. There was some kind of unit coming to capture him, and it was on false charges. However, it was clear that he was considered dangerous enough that questions would not be asked, his rights would not be given, and there was no way that he would be arrested. Too much anger, maybe too little professionalism, but whatever he had been set up for had been heinous enough that it had provoked a complete hunting party of SWAT that were bearing down on the warehouse.

He remained quiet and more on his own as Steve and Sam decided that they would go to some pre-planned and organized safe house in an apartment block that was currently under some kind of assessment or renovation. At this point, he was mixed on his feelings on going anywhere with Steve, aware that his very presence would increase the danger to his old friend. A part of him was still grappling with the sheer notion that after two years, they had met up again face-to-face and Steve only seemed to ache to be close to him, not hold against him what he had done on the helicarrier. Sometimes everything was so confusing.

The Soldier still went quietly, hiding his metal arm in his pockets and keeping his head down so that his hair curtained his facial features. It didn't take long, not with how easily he disappeared in and out of shadows and especially when Steve looked for him before he emerged again, their eyes meeting several times with little hopeful promises for a quiet moment.

The apartment was a single bedroom, a corner unit that was close to the emergency stairs and it was clear that Steve and Sam had been here a few hours based on the uniforms that were here. Steve's shield was as well, and he found himself looking at it, eyebrows gently bunched on his forehead before he was directed into a small clean bedroom and risked toeing off his boots and rolling up his sleeves as he reached out and ran his mismatched hands over the bed's surface.

How long had it been? He didn't tend to sleep on beds.

Now though, knowing there was a guard on duty in the form of the Falcon, he slipped onto it and pressed his back to the wall and tucked an arm under his head as a pillow, leaving the actual one for Steve. He watched the blond silently for a few moments, hardly believing that they had a spare moment or two to just watch one another. "You... were always taking stupid risks for me in the war," he said softly.

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[worldwar]

It had been a long time since Steve lived anywhere he could have called home. But the safehouse felt like something close to it when he and Sam brought Bucky there, the three of them battered, tired, Bucky walking between them in his hoodie and jeans with a gleaming silver hand hidden in his pocket. Steve ached to give him a place, a moment that felt like solace and shelter, even if only briefly. His best friend had been deprived of both for too long. When their eyes met Steve thought he could see a little bit of hope in their tired blue-gray depths; it made him want to put his arms around his friend, just keep him close and quiet for a while. There wasn't anything from the past that Steve held against him, not the events on the helicarrier or the two years spent chasing a ghost--all he wanted was Bucky here with him, safe.

Sam offered to take the first watch, and Steve was unimaginably grateful to him when he could lead Bucky into the bedroom and watch his guard come down a little, watch him toe off his boots and run his hands over the bed like he wasn't quite sure how to use one of these anymore. He had to turn away so Bucky wouldn't see the pain that cut through him, mastering himself while he took his shoes off and changed his dirty, worn shirt for a clean one. He propped his shield against the corner, as comforting a sight to him as it apparently was to Bucky. Then Steve turned back to find that Bucky had already laid down, his arm curled under his head. Steve moved quietly towards him, drawn by his friend's silent, watchful gaze, and sat on the bed; after a moment or two he reached out his hand and carefully brushed a few strands of long hair out of Bucky's face.

"You were always doing the same for me," he answered with a smile. Bucky hadn't had a shield to duck behind, but he'd still always been right behind Steve, following him into the line of fire. Covering his six, putting himself in danger to take out the enemies Steve didn't even see. "You remember the war, Buck?" Every memory, every shared remembrance was another pang of happiness, more than Steve had ever thought he'd feel again.