It starts because of Rick's Groceries.

Rick's Groceries isn't a market that the Bucky of the 40s - whose thoughts and memories flick in and out, sometimes real, sometimes impossible to grasp - remembers. It's also not a grocery store like the kind with the glaring lights that he's been in since he and Steve moved into this apartment. It's just a place to buy cigarettes and pop, chips and a few sad-looking bananas off in the corner. Bucky's in there to pick Steve up some barbecue chips - Steve's always forgetting things on his grocery list - when he sees the kids. One's clutching a few Slim Jims, and the other has a bag of Ruffles. "Just once," the little girl is saying. She's standing on her tiptoes so she can see over the counter. "Just this one time."

"No," the guy says. "I gave it to you, once. Three times. That's enough. Tell your parents to send you with money."

He's glaring at the kids like he's seen it all before. Considering the state of the shop, he probably has. Bucky clears his throat and pulls out his debit card. There's plenty of money on it; HYDRA was panicking and the Widow pulled some accounts together for him. It's stolen money, but what does Bucky care? 70 years were stolen from him. "I'll pay for it," he says.

"Look, these kids -"

"I said I'll pay for it," he says, as coldly as he knows how to. It's pretty damn cold. The guy takes the card and rings everything up, Bucky's and the kids', and bags it. Bucky takes his card back and hands the kids their stuff.

"Our mom has a job," the little boy says. He's got dark-ish skin and knobby knees that say he'll be tall.

"So does our dad," the girl says. She has a pink bow in her hair.

Bucky doesn't know what to say. His parents had jobs, too. Didn't matter much, in the end, with the Depression.

Finally he settles for saying, "Go home."

The boy says, "But -"

"Go," Bucky says again, like he thinks - maybe - he heard his mother say it.

"Come on, Carlos," the girl says. She grabs her brother's hand and leads him out of the store.

"You're a sucker," the guy behind the counter tells him.

"Have a nice day, Rick," Bucky says, and leaves.

Steve's got art classes from eight to two, then he teaches lessons from two to seven. Bucky sometimes wonders if it's a way of staying away from him, but he knows that's not Steve. Even if he didn't have ghosts living in his head - Steve, smaller than he is now, determined and a damn idiot for it - he'd know because the guy almost died just because Bucky had his old friend's face.

And was his old friend, Bucky thinks as he lets himself back into their apartment. It's nice, for a fourth floor walkup. No bugs, and it's not like Bucky minds the stairs.

So Steve's not deliberately staying away from him, but Bucky has a lot of spare time on his hands, and his only job, Steve says, is getting better. What that means is Bucky spends a lot of time in the library, and roaming the neighborhood. It's a part of Brooklyn that's a little rougher and a lot more unfriendly than the part he half-remembers, but it's home, more or less. And Bucky knows every street, every alley, remembers it all and notes the alterations every afternoon.

In the morning - he doesn't tell Steve what he does in the morning. Because in the morning, he watches PBS.

It makes sense, in a way. Kids' shows are supposed to teach you how to be a person. Bucky doesn't know how to be a person. So he watches a lot of Sesame Street, even though he can count, and old Mister Rogers, even though the puppets are, frankly, a little creepy. He watches them, and he sits as memories come. Sometimes the memories are good, home cooking and Steve sitting at the table across from him. Sometimes they're scary - falling off a cliff. Other times they send him to the bathroom, vomiting because pushing his own hair back reminds him suddenly of choking someone, under orders that were alone in an empty mind.

So, the kids' shows. He thinks he knows how to deal with kids. Not because they're simple, but because they invent all kinds of scary things. And some of the things that freak them out also freak Bucky out. Being alone in a crowded place, talking to people he doesn't know. Mister Rogers might be a little too cuddly, but he's good at talking people down. And Bucky needs to be talked down sometimes.

The library closes at eight, which is around the time Steve gets home. Bucky spends time at the library from four to closing. From noon to five, he does his best to stay busy. Walking the neighborhood, running errands. He even cleans the house. Neither of them are women, and anyway, Steve's told him it's not like that anymore. Not always, at least, or it shouldn't be. Steve's social lessons get a little convoluted, since half the time he's only just learned what he's trying to explain to Bucky.

He's not thinking about Rick's Groceries when he goes on a walk the next day. His hair is tied back, and his hands - gloved - are free. He's watching a car go by when some kid says, "Hey, you do this a lot," from behind a fence.

He turns. It's the kids from yesterday - Carlos and the girl.

"I'm Maria, by the way," the girl says. "Thanks for the snacks."

"My parents worked," Bucky says. "A lot. Is this your house?" He nods at the broken-down old house they're standing in the yard of.

The girl nods. "Mine, and also Mrs Grants', and the Johnsons' too. See?" She reaches through the gate to tap the buzzer. "Three apartments. We live on the top."

"It sucks," the boy says.

Bucky knows he should keep walking. He doesn't read the news, but Steve's told him enough to know that people nowadays view strangers with a lot of suspicion. But something compels him to say, "Are you hungry a lot?"

"No," Carlos says, at the same time Maria says, "Yes, but our parents have jobs."

She says it like it's important. Bucky knows it is. Steve's told him the world still gets angry at people who don't have enough to eat, or good enough jobs.

"Good for them," he says. "I'll talk to you later."

It's abrupt, but they don't seem to care. They both say bye and go around to the back of the house, and Bucky keeps walking.

He thinks about it that night, as Steve makes spaghetti. Finally, as they're sitting down to eat, he says, "I met children yesterday."

"Oh?"

"When I was buying you chips."

Steve takes a bite, obviously waiting for him to talk. Steve's so carefully considerate that it almost hurts sometimes. "They were begging," Bucky says, "like we used to, a few times. I paid for their food. They live down the block, in the house with the flaking grey paint. Third floor."

Steve takes another bite and nods.

Bucky takes a bite of spaghetti, too, before saying, "This is our neighborhood."

"You know what they'll say if we go over with sandwiches, Buck. Same as one of us would've said. People now don't like taking charity any more than they did back then. Even Social Security -"

"I know," Bucky says. "But this is our neighborhood, and you're Captain America. They'll listen to you."

Steve eats for a few minutes. Bucky eats, too. He knows how to wait. He once lay on a roof for thirty hours, waiting with a sniper rifle to -

No. He's not going down that road.

"Okay," Steve says finally. "Let's bring them some sandwiches. The most they can do is say no, right?"

"Right," Bucky says.

"Tomorrow's a Saturday. There's no guarantee the parents will be home, but one of them might be. We'll go tomorrow with lunch for us, and them."

"We'll need more bread." Lunch for Bucky and Steve, even lunch for manners' sake, is a lot of sandwiches.

"We can buy bread," Steve says. He smiles at Bucky, open and - innocent, Bucky thinks.

"Right," Bucky says, and focuses on his food again.

This is a good plan. He hopes.

They go over the next day with eight peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, made with the kind of bread that still tastes a little wrong but, Steve informs him, has lots of fiber. Bucky carries the sandwiches in an old cloth grocery bag while Steve rings the doorbell.

Steve's face has been all over the news, so he's not really surprised when someone who looks a little like Maria opens the door and says, "Oh my God, you're Captain America."

Then she looks past Steve, and squints at Bucky. Bucky does his best to look like he hasn't - done a lot of things.

"Hello, ma'am," Steve says. "My friend James, here, ran into Carlos and Maria the other day, and we were hoping to share lunch today, since they offered."

Her face is closing off. Bucky lifts the bag and holds his arms out, opening it. "We brought sandwiches," he says. "Peanut butter and jelly."

He can see the war on her face - suspicion, mostly directed at him; offense, directed at both of them, for offering what's clearly charity; and awe, directed entirely at Steve. He and Steve both wait it out.

"Well," she says finally, "if my children invited you, then in you come." She stands to the side and lets them in.

There's a TV and a computer, but it mostly looks like the houses Bucky grew up with: a little worn and bare, but clean. They go into the kitchen, and the woman says, "Maria! Carlos! Lunch!"

They come racing into the kitchen, as their mother's saying, "Their father's at work. I'm Gabriela. Please, sit."

There are only four chairs. Bucky stays standing. "I can eat here," he says, tapping the counter.

"I insist," Gabriela says.

Bucky sits.

It's a weird lunch for a few minutes, until Steve says, "So, what are you guys studying in school?" Then it's an avalanche of talking, which Bucky can only mostly keep up with. Maria's in second grade, Carlos in first. They both like reading, but think the reading they've been given is boring. Bucky cuts in at that, saying, "Do you guys go to the library?"

"Yeah!" Maria says. "But they usually ask us where our parents are."

Bucky takes that to mean they get loud, which makes sense, given their ages. "I like the library," Bucky says.

"It's good," Maria says. "They have the grown-up books there." Her eyes are wide, like it's the best thing she's ever thought of.

Bucky resolves to get her books somehow. He doesn't know how. Maybe he can talk to Steve about it.

After the lunch finishes, they're hurried out. Bucky figures that's the end of it. The kids aren't likely to stake out their front lawn, waiting for him to pass by. And the mother might love Captain America, but she doesn't trust Bucky.

But the next day, he's reading a book about prosthetics in the library - special ordered, and the librarian glanced at his gloves, like she could guess. He's about halfway through when someone says, "Psst."

He knows that voice. He looks up, and Maria and Carlos are crammed into one of the big chairs in the adults' section. Maria's holding a brightly colored, somewhat long book. Carlos has a stack of shorter books.

"Hi," Maria says, still in a very loud whisper. "Your name's James, right?"

He wants to tell them to call him Bucky, but he can't. It's not official news that he survived, and he's pretty sure these kids have at least a few Captain America comics at home. So he just nods.

"Can you check these out for us?" Maria says. "We want to read them in the park. That way we can talk."

He wonders if these kids have watched any of the shows that tell you not to talk to strangers. "Okay," he says, and checks the books out for them.

"It's sunny," Maria says. "Our mom's making dinner, but she won't be home until six. Do you want to read with us?"

"Sure," Bucky says. That way, at least, he'll know the kids aren't talking to someone who would actually hurt them. "Let's go."

Carlos, Bucky notices in the park, doesn't talk much. But he goes through three kids' chapter books in an hour and a half. Maria talks more than she reads, but she reads quickly, too.

That gives Bucky an opening around five-thirty. "Do you like school?" he says.

Maria's face falters.

"Never mind," Bucky says. He knows the faces people make when they don't want to talk about something. He makes them, too.

"They know we don't have money," she says. "And sometimes they make fun of us. But our grades are good."

She says it like it's something her parents have told her. Bucky doesn't know what to think or say. What would Mister Rogers say?

"You're good the way you are," he finally says. "And you're both smart. Those kids just don't get it." Kids never do. They didn't back when Bucky was young, either.

Maria smiles a little. "Thanks," she says, and goes back to her book.

Bucky hopes he's helped, but he thinks he might not've done enough. That doesn't matter, though, because it's almost quarter to six, and Bucky needs to walk Maria and Carlos back to their house.

"We can walk on our own," Maria says.

"Then your parents will wonder where you got the books," Bucky says. "And they'll think I'm a creep."

Carlos rolls his eyes. Maria copies the motion, saying, "We know about creeps. You're not a creep."

"Tell your mom that," Bucky says, and stands up. They follow his lead, luckily.

Sure enough, Gabriela looks ready to rip him a new one when she sees him with Maria and Carlos. "Go inside," she tells them. They go.

Gabriela turns her glare on him. Bucky should probably flinch, to prove he cares about her opinion, but he can't lie like that. "What are you doing with my children?"

"I was at the library," he says. "They asked me to check out books, so we did. We read at the park."

"In the middle of the day? What kind of idiot do you think I am?"

"It's Sunday," Bucky says.

"I asked around," she says. "People see you, walking around. You live with Captain America and you don't have a job?"

Bucky thinks, then lies. Or, he mostly lies. "I had an accident a few years ago," he says. He lets his accent thicken, holds out his left hand. Gabriela's eyes go to the glove, then back to Bucky's face. "Worker's comp," Bucky says. It's what Steve told him about. Steve doesn't like lying, but who would believe the truth? "I have a lot of spare time."

"If you touch my children -"

"I won't," Bucky says. "I would never - they're good kids." He feels a little desperate, out of his depth, so he holds up his book. Prosthetics. He feels embarrassed just showing it to her. He tries to hide it. This isn't Sesame Street, and he's not a cute monster. "We read at the park. They were alone, I was worried."

But something in her expression softens. "I see," she says. "I'll tell Louise that you shouldn't be on a registry." Then she looks at him again, and her expression goes sharp again. "But don't you dare abuse that trust."

"I won't," he tells her. That's all he can say, but it's also true, so he thinks that's enough. He hopes.

"Good," she says. She turns to go inside, but then pauses. "Louise needs a dogwalker," she says. "She's two houses down and across the street. Give me your cell number. I'll talk to her."

Bucky tells it to her, and she programs it into her phone. She gives him a last look - long, evaluating, like he'd once have looked at a target - and goes inside.

He feels disturbed. But at least she didn't call the police.

He watches Sesame Street the next morning. It's a fictional construct meant to teach children how to deal with various social situations and basic numbers and colors, but he still feels wistful over it. He wishes he could live on Sesame Street, and have someone other than Steve tell him he's okay. He's gotten used to this kind of feeling, though, so he's doing his best to ignore it when his phone rings.

No one but Steve has his number, so Bucky assumes it's Louise. "Hello?" he says, trying to sound like he answers his phone regularly. Daily, even.

"Hi, James? This is Louise. You spoke with Gabriela yesterday, and she said you take some odd jobs for - well, anyway, I have a dog, a mutt, really, and our dogwalker just quit. No notice, can you believe some people? But we're in the market, and she said you live in the neighborhood. Friends with Captain America, of all things! But I guess you do get used to it, this being New York and all."

"Um," Bucky says. "Yes. I can walk your dog. I like dogs."

He winces, but Louise doesn't seem to notice how awkward he sounds. "Great," she says. "I'd love to meet you, see how you get along with Old Henry. That's his name - he's a puppy, though, don't let the name fool you. Are you free tonight, around seven?"

"Yes," Bucky says.

"Great. I'll see you there." She gives him her address and hangs up, with a happy-sounding, "This could be a lifesaver, bye!"

Bucky sighs. She sounds very upbeat, but unlike Maria and Carlos, she'll notice if he takes too much time to respond.

But he didn't lie. He does like dogs. So that night, he goes over to Louise's house.

Old Henry is, in fact, a puppy - he's got a lot of pitbull and a little bit of other things, and he slobbers all over Bucky. Louise clearly thinks he's a charity case, but she's nice, promises to pay him in cash, and gives him a key. He wonders what she'd do if he broke in and - but he wouldn't. If he were going to, he wouldn't need a key. And he's not going to. She thinks it's because he's friends with Captain America, but he doesn't mind that belief, if it means he has something else to do. He'll walk Old Henry at seven, after Louise leaves for work, and four, before she gets home. It's a good schedule. He likes it.

"Thank you," he says, and puts the key on his key ring before he leaves.

The next day, he gets Old Henry, who slobbers all over him, and takes him outside. He's surprised to see Carlos and Maria with another girl - white, a little older-looking, better dressed - until he sees their backpacks. Of course: it's 7 AM. They're walking to school.

Maria's face lights up when she sees him. "Hi!" she says. "James, come walk with us!"

The new girl says, "Is that your dog?"

"Not mine," he says. "I'm walking her for -" He wonders what these kids call Louise.

"Mrs Priestly!" Maria says. "Mama told me. Hi, Old Henry."

Old Henry wags his tail and drools.

"Can we pet him?" the new girl says.

"This is Helen," Maria says. "She's good with dogs, she has a doberman."

"Go ahead," Bucky says. "Uh, but then you should keep walking to school.

They all pet Old Henry, scratching behind his ears. Then Maria says, "You know, you could walk Old Henry with us! I bet then no one would mess with us."

"Shh," Carlos says.

Helen rolls her eyes. "Bigger kids," she says. "Maria's talking about bigger kids."

Bucky frowns. "I'll walk with you," he says.

The kids talk the whole time. Old Henry pauses to piss, but that's all he's done when they get to the school. "Bye!" Maria says, running off and pulling Carlos with her.

Helen hesitates. "Are you really friends with Captain America?"

"You should go to school," Bucky says.

Helen shakes her head. "I'm a second grader, like Maria, but I eat breakfast at home. I just walk with them sometimes. But are you really -"

"Yes," Bucky says. "We're friends." He doesn't feel the need to add that they're roommates.

"Do you see my hair?" Helen says.

It's dark blonde and pulled back in a ponytail. But not a loose one, like Bucky's; a tight, painful-looking ponytail, with a giant bow. Bucky's not an expert, but he suspects that's not in style. "Yes."

"My mom does it," Helen says. "Ugh, she thinks it's the nineties, and then kids make fun of me, and -" She bites her lip. "Should I just pull it out? She'd be mad."

Bucky doesn't know what to say, mostly because he always liked looking sharp more than his mom cared about making him look sharp. Finally, he says, "Your mom loves you. If I were you, I'd tell her that she works hard on your hair, and you like it, but you want it to be different."

"Grown-ups don't get it, though."

"I'm a grown-up."

"Yeah, but - actually." She looks at him with critical eyes, like it's his fault for not getting it.

He thinks it over. "If she doesn't agree, pull it out one day," he says. "Do your hair better. Show her you can do your own hair. You're grown up enough."

"I am," she says, like she's delighted he's noticed. "You should get a haircut, you know. Okay thanks bye," she adds, very quickly, and half-skips into the school parking lot.

Bucky looks down and notices that Old Henry looks like he's ready to take a shit. "Not here, boy," he says, and they go a little further down the block before Bucky gets out a bag.

That day, after Mister Rogers but before the library, Bucky goes to a barber. "I'd like it cut," he says. "Into a better style?"

He leaves with it looking very modern, shorter, but not that different from how he looked back in the war. It's jarring, even though he likes it. He thinks he might avoid mirrors for awhile, as much as he can.

Steve calls him around five, as he's sitting at the library, wondering if Maria and Carlos will somehow track him down again. "I'm going to be home early," Steve says. "I thought we could order in, so we don't have to cook."

That means he's had a difficult student. "Sounds good," Bucky says. He hunches his shoulders when a librarian points to the 'no cell phones' sign. "I'm at the library. I have to go."

"Oh, I'll meet you there," Steve says, and then hangs up before Bucky protests that he can walk home alone just fine.

Maria and Carlos don't join him. In fact, he thinks he'll have a day completely free of them. He almost does; Steve goes into the library, finds him, and they're leaving, when Maria and Carlos come in with a man Bucky assumes is their father.

Maria looks at him, and then at Steve. Her eyes go as wide as dinner plates. So quietly he's pretty sure a normal person wouldn't be able to hear her, she whispers: "Bucky."

Bucky waves and practically drags Steve out.

That night, he spends most of his time worrying over his double order of orange chicken. "No one's supposed to know," he says. "You know that."

"They don't have to know about the - other stuff," Steve says. "And this is a tiny corner of New York. I think your secret's safe."

Bucky hopes so. But he worries.

The next day, all three kids are waiting for him outside Louise's. "Hey, guys," he says.

"You're Bucky," Carlos says. For all that he doesn't talk much, apparently he was the one appointed to lay down this big statement.

Steve told Bucky not to deny it, so he doesn't. "Yes."

"How is that possible? You don't look old," Maria says.

"Because he's not old," Helen says. "Did you get frozen too? Was it, like - undercover?"

That's as good an explanation as any. "Yes," Bucky says. "So you can't tell, okay?"

"Can we call you Bucky?" Maria says. "I have comic books. It all makes sense now."

Bucky's pretty sure it doesn't, but he finds himself saying, "Yeah, sure. Now c'mon, let's get you to school."

They're almost all the way there when he realizes Helen's wearing her hair down. "I like your hair," he says.

"Thanks," she says. "You helped."

She doesn't offer more details, so Bucky doesn't ask for them. He does let them pet Old Henry before they go to school, though.

Maria, or maybe Helen, must be talkative, because the next day, there are two more kids waiting outside. Twins, it looks like - dead ringers for Steve from that age, down to the big blue eyes and blond hair. Neither of them looks ready to die of asthma, though, which is good. Bucky doesn't mention that the crowd has grown. He just walks them all to school, like normal. Helen maintains her dignity, but Bucky doesn't miss the twins - David and Jared - saying, "You don't have to sit with us, you know."

"Um, I do, doofus, or you'll get food thrown at you," Helen says.

They're almost at the school. David - he has a mole under his eye; Jared doesn't - says to Bucky, "She's meaner than she looks, and her parents are landlords."

Ah. Suddenly it makes sense. "No one deserves to have food thrown at them," he says. "But everyone can be pretty terrible, even when you're young."

"Uh-huh," David says. "Okay. Bye, Bucky! Bye, Old Henry!" They go to school, almost tripping over themselves to wave at Bucky. Bucky waves back with one gloved hand.

Somehow, it becomes a pattern. The first time Maria tells Bucky to come to the park, he hesitates, because there are parents at the park, and Gabriela's suspicious stare is still top in his mind. But it turns out that one of the adults at the park is Helen's babysitter, and another is David and Jared's dad. He makes awkward conversation with them for as long as it takes for Maria to say, "Bucky, piggy-back rides!", and then he's pushing kids on swings, giving them rides, even letting them hang off his arms, despite there being a jungle gym right there. The other adults seem to like it - probably because it gives them a break - and Bucky leaves feeling happy. This, he understands.

After a couple weeks, Steve says, "So, things seem to be going pretty well for you."

Bucky blinks, then takes another bite of pizza.

Steve's neutral face turns into a grin. "I'm talking about the kids, Buck. Did you know Louise asked me if we're planning on getting a dog?"

"I don't know why they like me," Bucky says. "I'm mysterious, I guess. They're all convinced I'm Captain America's lost hero best friend. I don't know what they think happened between then and now."

"They're not wrong," Steve says. He's a little more serious now, giving Bucky a level look he can't weasel out of. "That's exactly what you are."

Bucky shrugs, a little uncomfortable. Steve lets it drop, saying instead, "We could get a dog, though."

"A big one," Bucky says. "A Great Dane, maybe. Something the kids'll like."

"You could walk it with Old Henry."

Bucky nods.

Steve's smile comes back, more confident this time. "We'll stop by the pound this weekend."

Bucky feels warmth in his chest. It's pretty easy, relatively speaking, to smile back.

They get a dog named Bruce, a big, lanky puppy, and Bruce starts taking walks with Old Henry. Luckily, they both get along - and the kids love them. Even though Bucky tells Bruce that Steve's a better bet, Bruce sleeps with him most nights, taking up way more than his fair share of the bed. He's the lowest-key dog Bucky's ever known; he barely even gets bothered when Bucky wakes up with a shout, just licks Bucky's face and snuffles at his neck. Bucky feeds him, and they hang out while he watches PBS. It's - nice, Bucky thinks, to have someone other than Steve and a bunch of kids around. Even if that someone is a dog. And even if the kids are great.

He gets used to carrying band-aids around, because the kids he constantly ends up seeing are always scraping something up. Most of 'em aren't allowed past the block they live on when they're alone so they don't even all know each other. But Bucky knows them, and he helps them, as he does his walks around the neighborhood with Bruce and Old Henry. He learns that it's a hell of a lot harder to patch up a kid than a soldier in the field, because the kid won't pretend she's not crying. And he learns that it's his job to chase down the guy selling mangoes and ice cream from a cart.

He forgets his birthday. It's been almost a year since he pulled Steve out of the water, and he hasn't thought about it a single time. It's a Sunday, so he's off dog-walking duty, and Maria made him go to the park yesterday, so today Bucky's staying in, reading a book about motors. He's turning page 172 when Steve comes in with a box.

It's wrapped in colored balloon paper, and the ribbon is curly at the top. To Bucky's bemusement, Steve hands it to him.

"Happy birthday, Buck," Steve says to him.

"What's this?"

"It's not from me. It's from the kids."

Bucky tears the paper. It makes a sound that's familiar and not. He has no idea what to expect when he opens the box, but the cards that fall out aren't it.

There are fifteen of them, total. Some of them are handmade. Some of them are store-bought. There are cards from Maria and Carlos, from Helen, from David and Jared, from Suzie from two blocks over, from Melissa down the street, and from kids Bucky's only seen in passing - helped clean up a scrape, or offered a tissue, or stood in front of when older kids hassle them.

He doesn't get choked up. He's not really wired that way anymore. But he does say, "Hey, Steve. We got any tape?"

Steve watches HGTV sometimes - not so much because he likes it, but because he's a little more enamored of the TV than Bucky, and Bucky doesn't like a lot of the action shows. So Steve probably knows all kinds of fancy decorating reasons for why you shouldn't just tape things on your wall. But he doesn't even hesitate; he just says, "We've got some in the kitchen," and goes and gets it.

Bucky tapes up all of the cards, after reading them one by one, on the wall nearest his door. He makes them into a square, placing Maria and Carlos's at the very center. He leaves them open, so he can see the messages. Maria and Carlos's says, Even Dad thinks you're not a creep now. Happy birthday! Can we go to the library on Monday? PS You're probably really old, but don't worry, we won't tell.

He traces the edges of the card. He's at home, so he feels the paper whispering against his metal finger. It won't cut him, obviously, but Bucky's got a whole other arm for picking up paper cuts with.

Steve stands in the doorway the whole time. Bucky finally turns to him and says, "Thanks. Really, I mean it."

"You did this," Steve says. "I just helped."

Bucky nods. "Still. Thank you."

Steve smiles at him. "You're welcome."

Together, they go back into the living room. Bucky picks up his phone and texts Gabriela, to let her know he can get Carlos and Maria from school and take them to the library. He puts his right arm over Bruce's back and lets Bruce lick his face as he picks up his book again, the sound of Steve's pencil scratching overlaid with cars going by outside.