"Yeah, actually; Bucky might need some help in the whole…" He gestured to himself, "Memory…department. I would think. Maybe someone familiar in what happened all those– years ago."
Steve took a cigarette and the lighter from the corner and lit it. Asthma would have never let me do this.
Tony sighed. "I meant for you, Steve. But…I'll look into it. For both of you. As for someone familiar…I hate to say it, but the most familiar person would be yourself." he ran a hand through his hair again, shaking his head a little and leaning back in his chair.
Steve scoffed, almost choking on the smoke as it left his lungs, "Me?" He questioned, "Why would I need to go to therapy? There's nothing wrong with me." Watching ash fall to the ground below, he pondered, Should I be going? I don't get it.
"Steve." Tony said firmly, shaking his head a little. "You know how you just said that you feel like you're on a merry-go-round that's just getting faster, and you don't know which way is up or down?" He sighed. "You…probably should get a therapist. Talk to someone. Okay?"
"I don't know what you're saying. I was just saying things– I didn't mean it like that." He said, scrambling for any explanation. "I'm okay. I was just being dramatic, that's all. Plus– I haven't had any panic attacks lately. So there's that." He lied, hoping that he would be convinced, Ouch. Remembering how just yesterday, it felt like his lungs were collapsing.
"Steve, come on. Just talk to someone. I spoke to a therapist for a while, too." He sighed softly. "After everything that happened, I needed one pretty bad. You probably too. Hell, man. You went through a war, and something that should have killed you. I only went through part of a war zone. And a nuke, but…" he trailed off, shaking his head a little.
"Okay- okay, " Steve said, trying to brush it off, "I'll look into it." Another lie. Ouch again. He sighed, taking another drag of his dying cigarette. "..But I just wanna say, Tony; I really appreciate what you're doin' for us here. It means a lot." He said sincerely, the cool wind tickling his face as he looked out at the cityscape, realizing that Tony probably helped keep it running so smoothly, not like it used to be.
Tony sighed. "I'll arrange you a therapist, Steve. And yeah, you're welcome. You can repay me by making sure he doesn't murder anyone. Especially not me. I still don't have a will written out." he chuckled softly.
Bucky, on the couch, started to wake up. He let out a soft groan, sitting up and looking around wildly before remembering where he was. He only relaxed a little bit, still on alert.
"Hmm, you should probably get on that. It's a dangerous world, you know. You'll never know when a trained assassin shows up at your doorstep." Steve weakly chuckled, throwing his cigarette butt on the ground, stepping on it.
"Thanks again, Tony. Take care now, and say hello to Pepper for me."
Tony chuckled softly. "Alright, alright." he replied. "Yeah, no problem. You too, and I will." he hung up, setting his phone aside.
Bucky took the blanket off, setting it aside and looking around the room, taking stock of the room. He frowned, eyes flickering around.
Steve sighed, putting his phone back in his pocket and the lighter back in the corner. Turning, he went back inside, the warm air greeting him from his past moments of cold. He headed for the edge of his bed, the mattress squeaking as he sat down. It seems quiet, maybe he's still asleep.
Bucky stood up, looking around the room again and trying to decide what to do. Should he leave? Or what? He walked around the room, looking out the window silently. He could probably make it out the window and get away, but…his leg twinged, and he sighed. Perhaps he couldn't, at that. Not on his leg.
Steve decided to check and see. He silently made his way to the door, avoiding the creakiest floorboards that he remembered were in the middle. The cold brass doorknob squeaked as he twisted it, and he swung it open wider when he saw Bucky up and definitely not asleep.
"Oh. You're awake." He chimed.
Bucky whirled as he spoke, staring at Steve for a long moment. "Yes." He finally said slowly, standing straight and stiff. He wasn't sure what to do now. Was he expected to leave now, or stay? He didn't know, and it frustrated him, that he couldn't even remember that much. All he had was that memory of teaching Steve swing dancing. That was it.
"Are you..hungry? I could grab some spare clothes, and we could hop down to a diner across the street?" Steve asked, feeling a little more awake. "They do great hashbrowns, and the coffee's okay."
Bucky bit his lip. "I…don't care. Whatever you prefer." He replied after a moment. He swallowed, studying Steve carefully. He ran a hand through his hair, then looked away again.
"Okay. How's your leg holdin' up?" Steve said, slightly leaning on the splintered door frame, gesturing to Bucky.
"It's okay to walk on?"
"It's fine." Bucky replied. So long as he didn't strain it, he should be able to walk fine. Running, he wasn't sure about, but he didn't think he would have any need to run. But that was always a possibility. He shrugged a little, looking at Steve still.
Steve nodded, leaving the door open, turning back to his room and pulling out a stack of clothes. In its place in his drawer was a dog tag.
Is this..his? Steve paused, picking it up slowly with his eyebrows knitted. Pulling it closer, he read the words still legible.
James Buchannon Barnes. He placed it on top of the stack of clothes and walked back to Bucky.
Bucky looked at him as he came back into the room, tugging carefully on the bottom hem of the shirt, wondering what he should say or do. He still didn't quite understand what to do. What was expected of him here. This wasn't HYDRA, where they would tell him what to do.
Steve brought the clothes to Bucky, handing them over. "Tony'll probably find someone to get you some clothes of your own, once we go to his place– or tower, I guess. That's where you can stay while we sort things out." Steve nodded blankly. "You'll like Tony, I think. He talks fast, and is always all over the place."
Bucky nodded a little. "Tony…Stark." he said slowly. Something about the name tugged at something in the back of his memory, something… something familiar, but he wasn't sure how. He took the clothes, looking down at them. He saw the dog tag, and frowned a little.
"Oh yeah–" Steve said, following his gaze, not noticing how Bucky had known Tony's surname. "I don't really know how that got there, but…it is yours– If you want it." He said, shrugging.
Bucky picked it up in his flesh hand, weighing it. He kept looking at it, gaze unreadable as a memory trickled back in fits and starts. Or maybe it was two, interwoven? He wasn't sure. In one he was showing Steve the tags, "shipping out in a week". Another moment he was strapped down to…to something and God, he didn't know what was happening, but it hurt like hell, and all he could do was repeat his name and identification number, over and over and over and over again.
Steve sighed, staring down at the little shape of bent metal on its rusted chain, "I remember you showing it to me, the first time…God– I was so jealous. I was worried, too. I didn't want you to…go, I guess." He smiled softly, faintly at the memory. "You said, 'don't do anything stupid while I'm gone-'"
Bucky nodded a little bit, remembering that now, too. Looking down at Steve and clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone." He swallowed, eyes studying the damaged and rusted tags. How had Steve even gotten them? His eyebrows drew together, and he out the tags in his pocket.
How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you.. The words rang down the halls of Steve's 'memory lane,' and he asked himself how he could've said such a thing. They had so much time back then; days filled with adventures around the city, countless inside jokes and stolen glances at each other. He could have said so many other things, so many different things he could have told him to let him know he was important to him. I don't want you to go. You mean so much to me, I don't know what I'll do without you. But no, he'd told a joke
Bucky cleared his throat softly, the memory falling into place. It felt as if it were almost…dusty. Used and worn and somehow…somehow fogged over, as if it were still only partially remembered, and maybe it was. He didn't know. "I should change." He said after a moment.
"Hm, yeah," Steve said, washing away the memory, like throwing a pebble into a lake, and he watched the rippling water fade away into repeated half-circles, inching farther and farther away from him. Maybe that's how Bucky felt, Steve pondered. He turned, walking past Bucky and into the kitchen, trying to remember which cabinet had his prescription.
Bucky went into the bathroom and changed into the clothes. He found a hair tie, where it has come from he didn't know, and tied his hair back in a loose bun at the back of his head. He didn't know where the knowledge to be able to do that had come from.