Steve nodded, remembering time and time again the voices telling him the same, It's not your fault, no one could've stopped this from happening, you can't blame yourself. "I know it's not my fault." He said with a cautious nod, like he was reassuring himself, "I just can't stop feeling– and thinking that it is."
"Why? It's not like you could have done anything. I fell off a goddamn train, Steve." He replied calmly. "There was nothing you could do."
"I could've–" Steve shrugged, "Could've told you to stay back, or…stop you from even getting on the train. I don't know– insist that you had to be sent back home." He shook his head, trying to find where all this guilt came from.
Bucky snorted. "Yeah, because that would have gone over real well. It wasn't your goddamn fault, Steve, and you need to see that."
Steve nodded weakly, "Mhm," but his whole body seemed to writhe with unspoken feelings towards how he'd felt thinking he was dead for so long. To think that he'd lost him without telling him how he really felt– or even saying goodbye, Steve's mind hadn't fully processed it in the whirlwind of adrenaline and rush. "I'm trying, yeah."
Bucky sighed softly. "Besides. If it weren't for that… I'd be dead now, yeah?" He shrugged his shoulders.
"I guess," Steve shrugged back, peeling his gaze from off the floor, "…But you're here now, and that's what's most important to me," He said with a nod, gingerly flipping a page of the album, "Even if…you don't remember too much about before."
He nodded, looking at the pictures again. "Yeah. And… I'll remember eventually." I hope. He took a deep breath.
Steve nodded in agreement, though his mind had strayed from hope to anxious questioning. And if he doesn't? I'll lose him for a second time. "We just have to, uh…find ways to help you remember. Like– whatever mechanism works best."
He nodded a little, looking at the pictures again. He brushed his fingers against the tiny faces, flickers of memory darting through his mind.
Steve took a quiet breath, his mind on edge with anticipation as if Bucky might remember something else. "The news hurt them," He said, thinking back to the rounds of woeful drinking when they returned, "We had each other's back."
Bucky nodded a little bit, but wasn't able to picture anything except…flashes of redstained snow. He swallowed softly
"Do you…remember me getting you out of there?" Steve prompted, twisting a soft corner of the blanket and trying to hush away the echo of Bucky's yell, Not without you!
Bucky swallowed, shaking his head slowly. "Ah…no." he replied slowly. "I don't. Sorry." he knew this was probably something important, something he needed to remember, but…he didn't.
"–It's fine. It's just that…I found you a little out of sorts." Steve shrugged, remembering his slurring words and dilated pupils, "You were pretty confused, but happy to see me, anyway," He faintly smiled.
He nodded a little bit. "That….alright." he said slowly. He swallowed, running a hand through his hair and wishing he could remember.
Steve shrugged softly, draping the blanket over his shoulders, "It's not that important…" He said, though clearly remembered the rush of adrenaline he'd felt when he found him, "But um…what's the earliest thing you remember? Even before the war."
Bucky bit his lip. "I don't know." He said softly. "It's…a lot of it is all jumbled together. I don't…I don't have a good timeline. I don't know what goes where."
"Hm," Steve nodded, letting his head roll back onto the back of his couch so he was staring up at his ceiling thoughtfully. "Well…us as kids, playing marbles," He mumbled with a faint smile, pinning an invisible mark to his far left, like he was marking down that point of his life. "…And all those back-alley fights would probably be next."
Bucky listened quietly, thinking for a moment. "Can I…have a piece of paper? That might make it easier." he said softly, looking at Steve carefully.
"Uh– yeah." Steve nodded, staggering from the twisting clutches of the blanket and quickly moving to a far shelf, seizing his sketchbook and tearing out a blank page. He returned to the couch with the paper and a pen he found sitting idly by a lamp, gently placing it on the coffee table in front of Bucky, his eyes wide with curiosity at what Bucky might do.
"Thanks." he said. He took the pen carefully in his right hand, and made a timeline. The stuff where he knew where it went, he placed in the correct spaces. Others, he simply wrote farther away, to link up later.
Steve watched as Bucky noted each situation and memory to a place on the drawn line, leaving a few. "That's pretty accurate," He nodded, noticing the point that his memories switched from pre-war to a few moments post-war.
Bucky nodded a little bit. There were a few that he didn't dare write down, didn't dare reveal in all of their horror. Not now. Not to Steve. Not when those memories made him want to curl up in a ball and cry.
"So…this is what you remember?" Steve asked, trying his best to sound neutral, but feeling a strange affliction towards the fact that all his personal memories could fit on a page, with room to spare. "It's pretty good so far. –Progress, definitely. And…we'll add to it as you remember more," He said with a hopeful smile.
Bucky shrugged. "Most of them." he replied. "And…it's not all that great. It's hardly anything." he tried not to sound bitter about that.
"It's something," Steve lightly shrugged, his eyes glossing over the page while he voiced his optimism, "We have to keep encouraging these memories to resurface, and before you know it– this page will be full. And I've got lots of paper." He softly smiled.
He shrugged a little bit. "Maybe." He replied softly, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know."
Steve shrugged back, looking down at the corner of the blanket and twisting it, "Well…only time will tell what progress is t' be made," and that applies to…other things, too.
Bucky nodded, and shrugged slightly. "Yeah." He agreed softly, shrugging his shoulders.