It's cold. Bucky personally thinks he shouldn't have to feel cold anymore after several decades on ice. That should have like cured him of the sensation of cold that gets so deep inside it feels like you'll never be warm again. Instead he is trying not to tense up against the chill of New England winter as he sits on the roof staking out the apartment across the way. The living room and kitchen lights are both on and people will occasionally walk past the living room windows but no one has looked out yet. The kitchen window is partially open and Bucky can just make out some kind of music but it's too low for him to identify. Not that he could. There's been a lot of music created since he first died. Entire genres had risen and fallen while he slept. The window is a security risk. Anyone could sneak in.
"I didn't actually think you'd be here," someone says from behind him.
Bucky spins around. He was so focused on the apartment he let his guard down. He hadn't heard anyone approaching.
"Wait, please," Steve says taking a step closer and reaching out for Bucky before he can jump to the fire escape below. "I didn't know if you remembered her, but if you're here...you should come in."
"I can't."
"You can," Steve assures him stepping another step closer. Bucky needs to go before he gets caught. "It would mean so much to her."
Bucky glances back at the window, a mistake because in the next moment he feels Steve's hand wrap around his.
"Please. You can disappear again afterwards, I promise."
It's not a solid grip. If Steve had wanted to hold him here he should have grabbed the wrist instead of over his palm, Bucky wouldn't even need to try anything fancy to break free. He should go.
Steve pulls him away from the edge.
The door to the apartment is propped opened. Bucky's mind is screaming about the safety issues and planning a hundred ways to get in undetected and how to hide until he can...he doesn't do that anymore he reminds himself. The music and clatter of a dozen different conversations seep into the hall. He doesn't recognize the music, like he thought.
"Uncle Steve!" a child of about six shouts and runs over when they step through the door into the foray littered with shoes. Steve bends down and swoops the child up to rest on his hip.
"Hey Buddy, how you been?"
"Look what Aunt Susie gave me for Hanukkah!" He exclaims pulling on his shirt which has the picture of Steve's shield printed on it.
"Very nice," Steve smiles. "Can do you something for me? It's super important."
Buddy nods seriously.
"Can you go tell your great grand-ma I have a very, very special present for her."
Buddy nods again and runs towards the main room as soon as Steve puts him down. Steve takes Bucky's hand again giving it a reassuring squeeze and guides him around the corner to the open living room.
"Steve," the old woman sitting on the coach smiles at them. "You made it, and who is this wi..." she trails off and turns to look to her side, "Jules, Jules, help me up."
"I got you, mom," A woman of around fifty says, helping her stand and walk over to them.
"Buck?"
"Hi, Becky."
"You haven't aged a day."
"You either."
Becky smacks him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't tease."
"Sorry."
"Jules," she turns to her daughter, "this is your Uncle James. I've told you about my brother, right?"
"Yeah, mom - we went to see the exhibit about him in DC last summer, remember?" She assures Becky. "Hi," She says, holding out her hand. "I'm Julia. It's nice to meet you."
"Call me Bucky." He says, shaking her hand.
"Come," Becky says taking his arm for support, "you need to meet the rest of your family."
There are so many of them. Becky's children and their spouses and occasionally the spouse's siblings and their spouses. All of their children, and their spouses, and their friends who are really family. And their children. Generation after generation of them. Bucky feels the weight of all the decades past, but for once it's not a bad feeling. They are all here, and he gets be here to see them, to know them - his family that has survived and thrived and grown so big from such small beginnings.
He slips away after the candles are lit. He almost makes a clean get away too, but of course Steve is standing by the corner.
"Just like old times, right?" Steve says with a forced joking manner. It takes a minute for the memory to fight it's way out of the miasma of Bucky's mind. Steve and him slipping out of the Hanukah celebrations to make out behind the dumpster. They'd been so naive and reckless back then.
"I know I said you could go," Steve continues, "and I meant it. But can't you, just for tonight, just stay. We can pretend like it's the old days just for tonight."
Bucky should say no. Bucky wants to say no. They can't go back, the past is gone. Every second it gets farther away. But...but they tried to kill him. They broke down the walls of his self and tore out everything he valued in himself and filled him with the bile. But he's still here. He's here and the damage can't be undone, but he can be rebuilt. Brick by brick he can build himself again and that kind of work takes many hands.
"Please," Steve says and Bucky doesn't pull away.