There's no protocol for this. The military likes their plans, but him and Steve and the rest of the Invaders, they were always breaking new ground, weren't they? And nowhere, in any manual, are there guidelines for how to proceed from here. It's been a long time since Bucky's had to follow orders, but he wishes, in this moment, that there were someone to tell him what to do, because Steve's body language could very easily be mirrored in Bucky's own were he to let it.

But he can't.

Taking a step forward, Bucky reaches for Steve's arm, careful to use his right hand, his left curled into a fist so tight it's a wonder that the metal hasn't warped around itself. He looks up at Steve, searching his face for some clue as to how to handle this, but finding no obvious answer. With a sudden, unsurprising fury, Bucky wants to seek out the sons of bitches who sent them off on their trip home and make them pay, wants to take solace in some violent act of revenge, but he can't do that, either. There's nothing to fight save for his lingering nausea, and he could scream if he weren't otherwise occupied.

"We did it," he says, because it's the only reassurance Bucky can think to give, being that it's the only one that's true. "Steve-- Look at me."