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he wraps his jacket around Bucky's shoulder and checks him over before sitting him on the back.

"I'm gonna need ya to hold on the best ya can, pal."

"I got it." Steve is always quick to jump into action where he's needed, headfirst without a thought otherwise. And this is Bucky, his best friend, his... everything.

They make their way to Bucky's bike, Steve's careful with him, moving him slowly and surely, careful not to jostle. At the bike, -

Yeah. 'course. C'mere.

the moment and not get lost in his head or to the mechanical jargon of the brainwashing.

"Yeah, pal. I got ya," Steve reassured again, on his knees and then his feet instantly, arms curving under Bucky's shoulders gently to hoist him up and against him.

"You still live in that little flat by where the ball park used to be?" A steady rhythm to his cadence, hoping to ground Bucky to-

"I'm not leavin ya," Steve sighed as he scooped his best friend closer.

It was difficult to watch this happen, every single time, and yet every time it hurt just as much if not more than the first.

"You've never hurt me. I've never been hurt because kd you. Trust me."

He stroked gloved fingers down Bucky's neck and shoulders, only then realizing the wound.

"You're hurt, Buck."

Whatever happened to this Bucky's Steve had to have been unbearable and awful, if Bucky's reaction has anything to say for it. And that's okay. He doesn't need to be the Rogers this Bucky knew, he just needed to be the friend he deserved right now.

"Yeah. I'm here. Not goin' anywhere." --

and tried with every Bucky he met to instill that in them.

They all deserved that, no matter their background they had.

"I'm here, pal." Steve's left hand threaded through Bucky's hair, resting their foreheads together and allowing Bucky to breathe with him, slowing his breath and his heart rate.

Whatever Bucky was going through, Steve would hold him and tell him it was alright. It's what he wished he'd done that day instead of leaving. Bucky's fragile face, the look of being deserted in his eyes, had never quite left Steve feeling the best. He meant to come back, he had always meant it--

weathered with time, but no less the man he had always been. Strong and tethered, grounding and loving. By the time Bucky was saying his name, his strong arms had wrapped around his friend's frame, embracing him.

"Gotcha," he whispered against his temple, into hair, body shaking with him.

It was like watching his worst nightmare over and over again, only too aware that he /had/ watched this over and over again. But every time he saw it, every time a Bucky went down this road, he'd be all too grateful to have been there for him.

Punch after punch, hard to weak, Steve took it,--