[He figures it’s something like that, and the confirmation makes Bucky smile properly again. Steve has always been a doer, unable to lie in bed sick if he can sit up ’cause his hands are too fidgety, and he wants to draw. It’s definitely an endearing trait when it’s not annoying.

He remembers arguing with Steve so many times about how Steve can’t come with him to the docks or the scrapyard, how his skills are better put to use with other things. Back then, Steve had everything to prove and too much to lose. So much even for Bucky to lose. ‘What do you want me to do, collect scrap metal in my little, red wagon?’ Yes, because it means Steve will live even if Bucky can’t.

But now it’s different. It’s so different, and it’s still jarring that Steve is who he is now and not the same guy Bucky grew up trying his damned best to protect. While he loves that Steve has found his place, he hates that they also gave him every single chance to die.

At least today isn’t the day Steve’s askin’ Bucky if it’s okay for him to do that.]

I think you’d do swell, pal. You were always good with your hands. Hell, you fixed our cabinets enough times while I was out. They’d be damn lucky to get someone like you helpin’ ’em.