The dead tone of Bucky's voice hurt him, cut him down to his very soul. The last time he had heard that sort of tone Bucky had been strapped down to a table and mindlessly repeated his rank, serial number and nothing else.

He bit his lip against promising Bucky it would be okay. There was no guarantee of that Bucky was ever coming back and he had been working to accept that. It didn't matter either way, Steve would still help him.

The first step was washing away all the grime. He started with Bucky's shoulder, stubbornly treating both the same. He didn't want to ignore the arm, the mark of his failure and what his friend endured because Steve couldn't stop him from falling. The arm didn't seem to be effected by the water so he washed that too even though it was probably the cleanest part of Bucky right now.

"You aren't hurt?" he asked softly as he moved his hands and the soap down Bucky's flesh and bone arm, washing the space between his fingers. "You look alright."

He did, except for the scars that littered his shoulder and the rest of him. Bucky looked like he had spent a lifetime fighting but the truth was worse because Bucky spent a hundred lifetimes fighting a war without a choice.