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Someone was in his room.
He lunged, tackling blindly towards his door. He was out of bed and on all fours straddling the intruder before the second floorboard creaked. His hands went to their wrists, slamming them hard against the wood floor. His breathing came sharp and heavy with his sudden wakefulness. The darkness made him squint as he shoved a knee squarely under the intruder’s rubs.
Before he could say a word, one of his hands registered the feeling of cool metal beneath his grip. He felt the chest under him stutter and one of the wrists under his hands tremble. The legs trapped underneath his shifted restlessly, bare feet pushing at Steve’s own.
“Steve,” the voice below him was winded, but familiar. Steve sprang back.
“Bucky, shit!” he gasped.
He stood gracelessly, almost stumbling back to the ground when his legs didn’t quite untangle from Bucky’s. He stabilized himself and leaned down to help him up, feeling half-blindly in the pitiful light filtering in from the open door. Bucky took the offered hand with his metal one and Steve gripped it firmly.
Bucky stood shakily, his clammy hand gripping Steve’s bare shoulder. Steve slapped the wall next to the doorjamb until his hand passed over the light switch. The overhead came on, blinding him for a moment. He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes to try and clear the spots in his vision.
When Bucky’s face finally came into clear view, his eyes were sunken and darkly ringed, squinting in the light. His hair stuck up like crazy, greasier than Steve had seen it since something like August. His usual stubble was on its way to an unkempt beard, patchy over scar tissue on the left side of his jaw. He looked small; bare-chested and in baggy sweatpants. His breathing was irregular and a bruise was already blossoming in the hollow of his chest where Steve had kneed him.
“Oh, Buck. Jesus, I’m sorry,” Steve said with a hiss through his teeth. He put his hands on either side of Bucky’s face, turning his head this way and that, looking him over. “I heard the floor creak. I’m still on high alert.”
He’d just returned from a two-week-long Hydra mission in Europe. He wasn't as injured as the last time he’d come limping home three months ago, but he was just as dead tired. Bucky had been asleep when he’d come home this time, snoring gently in his room (it couldn't really be called the guest room anymore) when Steve had peeked in. He’d decided not to wake him. He was regretting that decision.
“I get it, it’s fine. I’m fine,” Bucky said. He grabbed Steve’s wrists and gently took his hands away from his face.
“What’s the matter?” Steve asked earnestly.
“It’s just…”
He swallowed hard and went silent with a troubled frown. Steve put his hands on his shoulders and ran them down his arms, the both of them out of habit, feeling for injuries. Once, at the beginning, he’d come to Steve in the middle of the night with cuts down his arm that remained a mystery to date.
“The nightmares got worse again when you were gone,” Bucky finished, “The really old ones,” he was staring at nothing over Steve’s shoulder. “They- I can’t get back to sleep.”
Steve moved himself into Bucky’s field of view. His hands resisted the urge to slide into Bucky’s.
“Want to sleep next to me?”
“Usually helps,” Bucky agreed with an unsteady nod.
Steve was knelt on the floor of his and Bucky’s tent next to his sleeping bag. Steve’s stomach felt like it was full of ice water as he stared down at Bucky’s face. The fingers in the vise of his hand were cold and clammy with a fine tremble running through them. Was this what a seizure looked like? Steve was not prepared for this.
“WAKE UP!” Steve hollered, voice cracking. He leaned close over Bucky’s contorting features, desperate for a sign he’d heard. His heart was racing and his lungs refused to take in enough air. He felt like the serum had stopped working; like maybe something was wrong with him too.
He heard the tent flap open, but couldn't bear to turn away for even a second.
“Cap?” a thick, sleepy voice asked. It was Gabe. Steve signaled for him to leave. “Cap, what’s wrong with Sarge?” he persisted.
Steve turned to glower at him. The other commandos were now all gathered at the door flap, peering in with various levels of concern on their faces. Steve took an unsteady breath and choked down his panic when he saw them.
“Bucky, please,” Steve pleaded, trying to school himself into some semblance of calm. He shook Bucky’s shoulder stiffly.
“Est-ce qu'il va… bien?” Dernier asked hesitantly under his breath, looking to Gabe. Gabe shrugged helplessly. Steve bit his cheek, waiting for the answer despite knowing that Gabe knew even less than he did.
“Je ne sais pas.”
He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, anyway. He turned back to Bucky.
“Captain Rogers, what’s wrong?” Monty asked warily.
“I- I don’t know,” Steve replied, his voice shaking.
“Maybe he’s, I don’t know, having one of those seizures?” Dum Dum suggested. “What do you do for that?”
“I’m not exactly a doctor, but I think there are drugs involved,” Dernier replied. Steve’s heart skipped a beat.
“Bucky!” Steve shouted again, histrionics starting to seep out around his edges again despite his best efforts. What if this was something Hydra had done? He scooped Bucky up by the shoulders and shook him violently.
“Whoa, whoa, calm down, Rogers!” Jim snapped to attention, shoving past the others and into the tent. He pulled at Steve’s shoulder hard enough to hurt anyone that wasn’t Steve. Steve let go of Bucky with shaking hands, letting him flop back down onto the floor.
Steve was trying desperately now not to fall to pieces in front of his men, but it was hard with Bucky laying limp and the idea that he was going to die sneaking into his mind. He’d woken Steve up first by flailing and smacking him. He’d taken up shaking and muttering as soon as Steve had touched him the first time. It had just been an open palm on his cheek.
“Try this,” Jim said after giving Steve a moment to calm down, handing his flask over.
Steve hesitated briefly before accepting it and screwing open the top, barely managing with the state of his nerves. A stinging smell drifted up towards his nose and he gagged.
“Jim- what is this?!”
“That’s Jim’s ‘secret’ stash,” Dum Dum put air quotes around ‘secret’, sending Jim a furtive look.
“Well it smells like gasoline,” Steve said with a grimace.
“You’ll be thankful when we run out of antiseptic and one of us gets bashed up,” Jim said with a warning finger. “And you aughtta be thankful now. Put it under his nose.”
“What?” Steve stared at him incredulously.
Bucky spasmed with a grunt, making everyone snap back to attention. Steve turned away from the other men to press a hand over his cheek.
“Sorry sir,” Jim elbowed past him and snatched the flask back. He knelt down by Bucky’s head, forcing Steve to slide over and effectively sidelining him.
Jim held Bucky’s head up with one hand and the flask with the other, holding the flask good and close to Bucky’s nose. Bucky stirred at the first breath he took, making a face, but he went right back to twitching violently and shaking in Jim's arms.
“That’s not going to work,” Steve snapped, trying to force his way back towards Bucky’s head in the cramped space. Jim held fast, securing a forceful grip on Bucky’s chin and leveling a glare at Steve.
“Drink up, Sarge,” he said, opening his mouth with a squeeze of his fingers. He pressed the mouth of the bottle to Bucky’s lips and tipped it for just a moment.
Bucky sat bolt upright, gasping in a huge lungful of air and whatever was in the flask as his eyes flew wide open. He spluttered immediately and choked, spilling the liquid down his chin and onto his shirt. He coughed and coughed, Jim slamming him on the back.
“Sergeant 32557-Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Bucky gagged off to the side and wiped his mouth. “What the fuck? What the ever-loving fuck?” he lifted a trembling hand to wipe his chin with the collar of his shirt and looked up. He coughed, less rough, and ran his thumb over his lips. The arm he had out behind him, supporting his weight, was wobbling ominously.
“You’re finally awake. Caused a bloody fuss,” Monty sighed but there was lingering concern in his eyes. He squeezed himself into the tent between Steve and Jim to press a hand to Bucky’s forehead. He frowned. “You have a bit of a fever.”
Bucky was bleary-eyed, looking between the others confusedly. He blinked slowly, seeming like he was trying to take everything in. He still had a fine tremble rippling through his body. Jim’s hand was at his back, nice and solid in the middle of it to keep him steady.
“Okay, I’m fine,” he finally snapped as Monty moved on to check his pulse. “I’ve already got a wife in this camp to nag me, I don’t need a mom.” He scowled at Steve despite him having done nothing yet. He knew it was coming.
“Alright then, pop,” Monty stood with a put-upon sigh and clambered out of the tent, his back popping when he straightened out of his hunch. “You and mum sleep tight, then.”
“You guys, too,” Steve said gently, practically shoving Jim out of the tent once his flask was capped.
“Scared me to death, Sarge,” Jim pointed at Bucky and raised his eyebrows.
“Take care of him, ma,” Dum Dum winked at Steve. Steve caught him rubbing his jaw and looking over his shoulder with his forehead a mess of worried wrinkles as he wandered after the others.
Gabe and Dernier casually saluted, looking a little shaken as they followed suit. Bucky visibly relaxed when their footsteps faded, falling backwards and laying flat on his back.
“Steve, what happened?” he asked after a second, his voice quaking. Steve, too upset to do much else than stare at Bucky’s face, shook his head.
“You were shaking and yelling and muttering and-” Steve shrugged, trying to make his own shivers subside. “You scared us all.”
“Shit,” Bucky grunted, stretching his shoulders and rubbing his face with both hands. “It was just a bad dream.”
“Just a- Are you kidding?” Steve hissed. “Damn it, Bucky I was shaking your whole body! You wouldn’t wake up!” he felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes.
“Night terror, then,” Bucky amended. He frowned when he met Steve’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Jesus, don’t apologize,” Steve moved from kneeling to sitting cross-legged. “What were you even dreaming about?” He passed a hand over Bucky’s forehead to clear away the hair stuck there with sweat.
“It’s nothing. Don’t ask a fella shit like that,” Bucky groaned, turning his head. Steve turned it back gently and stared hard at him. Bucky rolled his eyes. “Fine. I dreamt was back in Zola’s lab.”
“Damn it, Barnes, that isn’t nothing…” he sighed and felt himself go doe-eyed and motherly like Bucky hated. “Do you think you can get back to sleep?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky nodded but his eyes wouldn’t move from a spot on his sleeping bag.
“…Alright,” Steve nodded back. After all his life being pestered about his health when he could manage, he knew better than to press for more. “Night, Buck.” He bent to kiss his cheek gently. Bucky moved his face out of the way.
“Yeah,” he grunted.
Steve swallowed around a lump in his throat.
He shuffled on his knees across the tiny tent back to his bedding and shoved himself back in. He reached over and turned off the flashlight, rolling onto his side away from Bucky with intentions on going back to sleep, trying not to worry or let himself be upset.
It was ten minutes before his hands stopped shaking. It was twenty before his breathing evened out. It was thirty before he heard movement behind him.
“Pick a side,” Steve nodded to the bed.
Bucky’s eyes took a quick scan of the room. They always did, no matter how many times he’d visited a specific place. He took a cautious step towards the king sized mattress, scanning it, too. Eventually he walked up to it, placing a hand on the cool sheets.
“I’ll take the left,” he said, his voice far away.
“Go on and climb in, I’m going to shut the light off.”
Bucky did, pulling back the sheets and sitting on the bed. Steve flipped the lights back off and maneuvered under the sheets, knowing his room well enough in the dark. He shifted a few times to get cozy again, trying to find the creases he’d left in the sheets and the right dent in his pillow, staying on his right side so he could see Bucky if he woke up.
Bucky was still sitting, the light from the alarm clock reflecting off his arm and revealing his position to Steve. Steve reached out and gently touched his wrist. Bucky started but relaxed quickly. He slowly eased himself down, keeping a good distance between them. He was facing the window, away from Steve.
“I really am sorry,” Steve repeated one more time.
“For my ribs?” Bucky sounded amused.
“Well, yeah,” Steve chuckled a little. “That and… I shouldn’t have left you for so long. You always get worse,” he said, trying to clear his conscience without sounding too insulting.
He’d been a wreck when Steve had come back from Chicago in October, and that had just been a week or so. Bucky had been clingier and more distant all at once, worse than Steve had seen since July, for a week afterwards. He’d forgotten the lyrics to his favorite songs again. Steve’s wounds seemed to constantly upset him to the point he’d taken to wearing long sleeves all the time. He would spend hours just staring at his metal arm. Steve had taken a few missions since then, but they’d only ever lasted as long as four or five days. Never longer.
Bucky sighed, sounding typically put-upon and rolled over to face Steve. Steve opened his eyes. He could make out Bucky’s silhouette and some of his features. His face wasn’t close, but Steve’s heart clenched.
“I’m not going to stop you from doing your job,” he replied. This was a tired topic.
“Bucky, you don’t even have all your memories back yet,” Steve whispered. He knew it was a low blow, as much to himself as to Bucky, without Bucky’s indignant intake of breath to signal it.
“Steve,” he warned, “I’m getting there. I can get by.”
“But… the dreams wouldn’t have gotten this bad again if I hadn’t left, would they have?”
Bucky was silent for too long, just breathing evenly into the space between them. Steve heard his lips part before he spoke.
“I was just worried about you,” he finally admitted. “Not as bad as Chicago,” he added, like he could read Steve’s mind. “Just nightmares. I could sing you ‘Autumn in New York’ right now if you wanted,” Steve could hear his smirk.
“Bucky,” Steve was trying not to giggle at him. Bucky was an awful singer to the point of hilarity, but this was serious.
Bucky shifted a little closer. “You’re home now,” he whispered. “I’ll sleep much better now.”
Steve half-smiled at him with a sigh. They could finish this in the morning. He pressed a cold hand to Bucky’s ribs over the bruise, his skin still sleep warm, almost without thinking. He snatched it back and tucked it under his pillow after just a split-moment, flushing.
“…Night, Steve,” Bucky said, his voice holding a strange gravity. He reached out to squeeze Steve’s upper arm, letting it linger. Steve couldn’t help the full smile that overcame his features.
“Night, Bucky.”
“Everything good?” he asked, rolling over. The movement stopped. Steve rubbed at his eyes. “Everything alright?” he asked again, starting to get worked up.
“Yeah,” Bucky sounded offended for some reason. He was sitting in the middle of their sleeping areas, his hand clutching the fabric of his bedding, which was halfway dragged over. He caught Steve looking and narrowed his eyes. “It’s cold,” he snapped.
Steve nodded silently, sitting up to help. It was cold, but he knew that wasn’t the reason. Steve was the only one who ever needed to share a bed when it got cold. Bucky was either drunk, worried, or scared, and Steve was betting on the third one even though he smelled like the first.
They rearranged Steve’s bedroll to be flat across the floor, moving the equipment out of the middle of the tent to the side where Bucky’s warmth still lingered in the ground. They unzipped Bucky’s and spread it flat too, pulling it up as a blanket. They both curled up on their separate sides.
Steve came out of sleep the second time much slower and on his back. He snorted in an aborted snore and stretched out his legs languidly. He let his eyes open slowly, blinking in the pale light coming in through his open door. Why was his door open? What was the point of blackout curtains if his door was open?
He looked to his right to double check his window, only to get a faceful of hair. Bucky was curled up and at an angle, his face buried in the pillow and his forehead just a few inches away from Steve’s chin. The dead weight on Steve’s waist was a sleep-flushed arm hugging him close.
It felt like an eternity since Steve had woken up like this. Seventy years, four years; it was the same. His breath wobbled. Bucky still didn’t have all his memories back. Right?
“You alright?” he asked thickly, trying not to let his voice shake (whether he was about to cry or do something stupid like kiss him, he didn’t know).
“Mmm-hmm,” Bucky hummed, mostly asleep.
“Okay. Go back to sleep,” he said, staring at his ceiling, wide awake now.
“Nhhn.”
“Steve?” Bucky whispered a long time later, his voice faint.
“Yeah?” Steve asked, not having had it in him to sleep. He was too shaken, his mind bombarded with new thoughts about what they’d done in Zola’s lab. If Bucky was changed forever. How he hadn’t said goodnight like they always did.
“Steve, I’m sorry,” Bucky whispered, his voice full of an emotion that was hard to identify without facial cues. The bed rustled as he rolled to face Steve.
“I already said not to app-”
“No,” Bucky scooted closer, nearly sharing Steve’s pillow. “I’m sorry for being an ass.”
“It’s fine,” Steve replied lightly. He knew it sounded forced.
“It isn’t,” Bucky sighed, scooting one more time and pressing his fingertips to Steve’s chest. “You were scared, too.”
“I wasn’t the one having some horrible sleep seizure,” Steve mumbled.
“Yeah, but I know how you feel,” Bucky’s fingers slid up to his jaw. Steve felt breath against his chin. “When you had asthma attacks or got real sick, I would just get so scared,” he whispered. His breath stuttered. “I was so afraid to lose you, Stevie. That first time on our own was the worst. I couldn’t- I couldn’t get you breathin’ right for hours,” his fingers shook.
“Bucky, stop,” Steve hushed, putting a hand on his waist and tugging him just a little closer.
“I didn’t mean to be so pissy,” Bucky took a shuddering breath. “I'm not used to this role-reversal thing we got goin' on. You know how I get.”
“I do,” Steve agreed, rubbing his thumb against the ridges of Bucky’s ribs.
“Can I still sleep here with you?” Bucky sounded hopeless.
“Since when do you have to ask?” Steve muttered, shifting so his left arm was no longer trapped under him. He folded it up under his pillow.
When Bucky pressed his lips to Steve’s they were still trembling. He slung his arm over Steve’s to press his palm between his shoulder blades. The fingers on his jaw took hold and tilted his head down. Bucky was slow and gentle, his body going liquid against Steve’s. Steve sighed against his mouth, moving his hand up to cup his cheek. Their legs tangled up under the blanket, Steve’s chilly toes pressed against Bucky’s legs like nothing had changed at all.
They separated with a soft sound and Bucky buried his head next to Steve’s, half off his own pitifully flat pillow.
“Night, Steve.”
“Night, Bucky.”