27

(Steve POV) 

I leave the training center with our new, fully trained German Shepherd. He's a service dog for Bucky, who has no idea that this is happening. 

I open the door to the car that I still have yet to return to Natasha, and the dog hops in. He knows he's off duty, so he can relax, and he curls up in the passenger seat with his head on the center console, which is kind of inconvenient but he's so cute that I'll let it slide.

When we get to the house, I clip the dog's leash on and lead him out of the car. He can go off leash, but this is a new place for him and I don't want him to freak out and run away or anything.

"Bucky?" I call out as I open the door, still cautious about all the times he's mistaken me for an intruder.

"Yeah?" I hear from another room. The living room, if I'm not mistaken, so he's probably reading. I glance at the clock on the wall. Yep, this is the time he deciates to reading.

I got him The Lord of the Rings a little while ago since I know he's read The Hobbit, but the Lord of the Rings books came out after we 'died.' He's been reading those. I think he's on Return of the King now.

"I've got a surprise for you." 

"Is it a cat?" 

Oh yeah. Bucky's a cat person. It's probably one of his only personality traits that I don't respect.

"It's better," I say, very confident, as I am a dog person. This dog is better than any cat in the world.

"Better than a cat?" He asks incredulously, so I start walking into the living room. "I don't think so." 

"It's a service dog!" I announce proudly, leading our dog right into the room. I unclip the leash from his collar and he walks right over to Bucky and lays down at his feet. "He's for you." 

"To serve what purpose?" His confusion does not stop him from leaning down and scratching the dog behind the ears.

"He's trained to aid people with PTSD," I explain. "He can recognize if you're having an episode or something, and he can ground you when you're triggered and help keep you from switching." 

"What's his name?" 

"Boromir." I had almost gone with Gandalf, but Sam said that he didn't seem like a Gandalf.

"He's kind of better than a cat." 

But I can see already that he loves that dog, and I continue seeing it more and more as the week draws on. I see it in the way he feeds Boromir bacon in the mornings when he thinks I'm not looking. I see it in the way he puts a coat on Boromir for his morning run with Sam, so that he won't get cold in the snow even though he has a fur coat. I see it at night, I see the way that Bucky moves from the floor to the bed so that this dog, who refuses to sleep anywhere but by his side, can be comfortable.

Boromir very quickly becomes definitely better than a cat.

--

"What if they don't let him in?" Bucky finishes putting Boromir's work vest on. He refused to let me help, even though doing it singlehandedly- literally- is clearly a pain in the ass. "How are they supposed to know he's a real service dog?" He stands and clips one end of the leash onto the vest, then the other end onto his belt.

"You've only got one arm, Buck," I remind him. "I don't think they'll try to tell you that you don't need him." 

"It feels wrong to take him to the grocery store." 

"Well, sometimes it feels wrong to take you to the grocery store, but they haven't kicked you out yet. Get in the car." 

As much as I would like to trade Nat's car back to her in return for my bike, it just wouldn't be convenient. We are a family now, and I can't put me, Bucky, and Boromir on a motorcycle and expect it to work out.

Unless I get a sidecar- 

"How's progress with your new arm going?" I ask, noticing Bucky struggle with his seatbelt. I did once try to do it for him, but he didn't like that.

"It's not," he chuckles sheepishly. "Shuri is still mad at me for losing the old one." 

"I'm still concerned about how you lost it in the first place," I say casually, trying to get him to tell me a little more about what happened. He's still been claiming he doesn't know, but I know for a fact that it's a lie. I just want to know why he feels like he has to lie.

"Well, I fell out of a train-" he starts sarcastically.

"You know that's not what I meant." 

"- and then Zola decided there was no way to save the real arm-" 

"Please stop." I'll never get over the guilt of leaving him after he fell. I could have gone back for him.

"- it was too mangled, you see-" 

"Knock it off," I plead, but he ignores me and keeps telling his story.

"The bones were sticking out of it, and there was blood everywhere-"

"Bucky." I say firmly, trying to get the message across that I mean it. He needs to stop. 

"- and so they sawed it off!" He makes an aggressive sawing motion with his right hand and makes noises that sound like a motor but are probably meant to be a saw. 

"God, would you stop that?" I slam my hands against the steering wheel and he goes quiet. "That's not something you joke about." 

"You're always saying that you wish I would talk about it more-" 

"That's not talking about it! That's avoiding talking about it by turning it into a joke." We haven't even made it out of the driveway. 

"- and I don't know why you want me to talk about it. You already know everything." 

"What do you mean, I know everything?" I interrogate.

"I know you have my files. That's all the information HYDRA had on the Winter Soldier."

"Have you read them?" Those files probably do hold everything. Some parts were... very hard to read. Not like 'illegible' or 'incomprehensible' hard to read. Like, 'really heavy stuff' hard to read. 

"No." 

"You should." 

Bucky has admitted before that he doesn't know or remember all of what was done to him. I think he deserves to know, even if it's not pleasant. He doesn't say anything to this.

In fact, we sit quietly for a while. I don't start the car, and neither of us make a move the get out. Either way, I don't think going to the grocery store will be a pleasant endeavor for anyone.

"It was Walker." He says out of nowhere.

"What?" 

"John Walker? The new Captain America?" When I nod in recognition, he continues. "He did this." He gestures toward the empty space where his left arm used to be. "He used one of my words to subdue me, brought me out into the middle of nowhere, and pried the port for my arm out of my shoulder with the shield." 

"I thought your words were gone...? "

"Not this one. We didn't know about this one." 

"Why didn't you say anything?" 

All of a sudden, he changes the subject. "I would like to read my file." He unbuckles his seatbelt and exits the car, bringing Boromir- who was just sitting quietly the whole time- with him.

I don't leave the car quite yet. Instead, I call up Natasha to see if she can find anything on Walker's whereabouts. 

(A lotta dialogue, sorry. Also, happy pride month!)