And that's about all he can take. The familiarity of it all is hitting him right under his ribs where there is no defense. He lost Bucky, got him back, and then lost him all over again. It's been loss after loss after loss and one day he'll tell this Bucky all of it, but for right now Steve just has to get used to the unfamiliar feeling of gaining. Of getting someone back in a way you never thought possible.

It's all he can do to pull Bucky in for another hug, burying his face into his shoulder as his eyes finally overflow. The same, silent sobs he learned in the twenties when boys weren't allowed to cry but he'd been kicked too many times to do anything else. Not that Bucky judged him. He was always safe.

Christ, it is so incredible to feel safe again.

"You're my Bucky," he argues, his voice cracking around the words. It feels a little like betrayal to his real Bucky, here, but God, this is his friend back again. And Bucky was right. There were no real rules, here.

He could be guilty later. Right now he just holds on tighter and tries to stop the tears he hasn't let fall since he was a smaller man.

"And shut up. The world was in good hands, with you. Christ, Buck." He just shuts his eyes, at a complete loss.

"Christ. Just...shut up and let me embarrass myself."