He's his mission, and honestly, the Winter Solider never cared about missions.
But when he drops down into the tiny Brooklyn apartment, he doesn't find a president, a CEO, a general, a war lord.
Instead, he finds a shaking, coughing, man who looks like the wind could blow him away.
The Winter Soldier's positive he could snap this man in half with one hand.
And yet, the mission scowls, clenches his fists, speaks through raspy breaths.
“What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”
And, for a moment, the Winter Solider can't quite remember.
"So talk to him," Sam says.
"I can't," Bucky groans. "I can't, Sam, I. He just." He fluffs his hair up and stares at Sam, distraught. "I want him to bench press me."
"Okay, so it's serious," Sam interprets. "Got it."
(Or: The one where Sam is Bucky's long-suffering roommate, Bucky is a hot mess of a millennial, and Hot Steve spends far too much time on the Lat Pull-Down machine.)