Chapter Text
“James Buchanan Barnes. Sergeant. 3-2-5-5-7-0-3-8,” he repeated. Again. His voice wavered, but it was his. His mouth felt dry and there was a tacky film that made his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. Every breath hurt, like he was exhaling sand, but at least the burning from whatever they’d put in his veins had died down. Or maybe he’d just gotten used to it. Maybe the pain had blended itself into the new normal. His new normal. His. He had to stay him. He had to stay himself.
“James… Buchanan Barnes.” God his mouth was so dry. This wasn’t what he’d signed up for. “Sergeant.” The word caught in his throat, and he worked his jaw to try and coax the sides of his esophagus from each other. “3-2-5-5...heh…” The noise that came out of him could have been a laugh, but even he wasn’t certain. This wasn’t what he’d signed up for, no. And the precursory numbers on his own serial number reminded him of that. 3-2. Drafted. Not volunteered. Volun told .
Start over. Try again.
“James… James…” He’d kill for a drink. How long had he been tied to this table? He honestly couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, but he also couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt hungry. A lifetime had been spent on this table, though he had memories of a time before now. Or maybe they were dreams. Memories of dreams. Normally the dreams would sustain him, but not here. Not now. He couldn’t taint those thoughts with this place. He had to keep them safe. The last part of himself. The part that was his .
Again. Don’t let go, try again.
“James Buchanan Barnes.” Good. Keep going. “Sergeant. 3-2-5-5-7-0-3-8.” The experiments had been a blur, and that much was merciful. He hadn’t been able to keep food down, and the small doses of water he’d been offered were just enough to keep him lucid. Well. Semi-lucid. He had to stay strong. He had to be stronger than this. He had someone waiting for him at home. Someone with sweet blue eyes and straw-colored hair that would never lay flat. Someone with such a stubborn scowl that it made Bucky’s heart flutter even here. Even now.
Parched lips stretched into a smile, and it wasn’t until he felt the tears filling his eyes that Bucky realized they were even open, staring unseeing into the dim room. He had someone to get home to. He hadn’t signed up for this, no. But he was going home. “James Buchanan Barnes. Sergeant. 3-2-5-5-7-0-3-8.” Maybe he should try to rest. He had a few hours before the doctors came back. Before it was time for more tests, more injections, more horrors. “James Buchanan Barnes.” He should try to rest. He needed his strength. He should try to-
“Bucky?”
Huh. Well that was new. He’d shake his head if he had the strength, but he didn’t, so he simply laid on the table and summoned the will to start over. One more time. From the top.
“Bucky? Hey it is - quiet - it’s Buck!” Bucky couldn’t ignore the voice; it was too familiar and his name was too easy on its tongue. He thought he should move his head, and his body was parsing the command when a shake came to his shoulder.
“Buck!” came the call again, almost gleeful in a way that seemed vulgar in these grey walls. All at once there was something against his cheek, and he cringed despite himself. It didn’t draw away. “Oh no, baby. No, it’s okay Buck -- shut up, he’s not dead . He’s mine , this one’s mine .” The speed at which the voice shifted from honeyed into a snarl was frankly alarming, and Bucky fought to gather his wits a bit more quickly now, struggling against his bonds to confirm his suspicions.
The young man came into view, slender and lithe, with wild blond hair that stuck up in unruly angles. The blue eyes were as sweet as a spring day, if a little bloodshot, and Bucky immediately strained against his restraints. “Stevie…?”
“Yeah baby,” Steve said. “Yeah. You wanna get outta here? This ain’t a good spot for you baby, let’s - oh my god, shut up . Five minutes. Just five minutes is all I’m asking. I want to have a moment ,” Steve snarled abruptly, eyes going unfocused.
A lot of chemicals had been injected into James Buchanan Barnes. A lot of drugs and a lot of things that messed with his head. Clearly. This wasn’t possible. His eyes must be deceiving him. And his skin. And his ears. But this still wasn’t possible. He’d left his friend at home where it was safe. Where no one in their right might would bring him to this nightmarish hellhole and-
“Key?” Steve was asking.
“...What?”
“Baby, do you know where the key is?” This had to be a dream. Steve had never been so bold with his affections, never been the one to be open in public beyond their fraternal familiarity. Bucky supposed there were worse dreams to have. Though this one was staring at him in the dark, looking rather insistent on getting an answer.
“Key… to what?”
“To the bindings, there’s a sort of lock -- I know, but that’s what the key’s for. That’s how things work, it’s locked, you put a key in -- why is everything violence to you?”
Now Bucky’s heart was racing for a new reason. Something else was wrong. Something he didn’t have the capacity to comprehend right now. “...Stevie… Who are you talking to?”
Steve’s head snapped up as if he’d forgotten where he was. “Oh. Oh no one -- nothing. It’s nothing -” His voice dropped into a whisper and his eyes went sharp again. “Yes, you are ‘nothing’. Unless you count a massive pain in my -- fine. Fine! Do it your way.”
As abruptly as he’d spoken, his right hand lashed out, gripping the restraint on Bucky’s arm and ripping it clean from the table. He went for the second one as the metal clattered across the floor and banged noisily into the wall behind them. A nanosecond later, its partner joined it. Steve’s tone returned to almost perky. “I wanted to have a little more… finesse, but! The important thing is that you’re still alive.” His smile dropped in an instant and he sighed. “Yes ‘for now’, that was implied. Why are you ruining the moment, what do you have against moments?”
Bucky didn’t move, uncertain of his friend’s erratic demeanor and certain that he was somehow missing an entire half of the conversation. Steve watched him right back, smiling patiently, until yet again his eyes went sharp and unfocused. “Mm, that’s a good point. Buck?” Steve asked, suddenly addressing him directly. As opposed to… whatever was wrong with him. “We made a lot of noise just now,” Steve explained calmly and coolly. “Thanks to someone being impatient and not bothering to find a key.” Steve bit back his irritation, drew a breath, and let it out slowly.
“But that’s behind us now. That’s not a problem. Learn from our mistakes and --” Steve’s brow furrowed and he spoke louder and more determinedly, as if trying to talk over someone who was attempting to interrupt him. “ Learn from our mistakes and move forward.” Another big sigh, another attempt to stay in control. “And right now, moving forward means we have to get you off of this table. Okay?”
This was not okay. This was decidedly not okay. Somehow Bucky felt less okay than he had five minutes ago, laying on the table and resigning himself to his fate. As Bucky struggled to sit up, he looked at Steve, trying to tell if he maybe had some clever device in his ear he could be talking through. He’d seen radios as small as a pack of cigarettes, so that didn’t seem too far of a stretch.
But he saw no radio. No wires. What he did see only made his stomach sink a little deeper. His Steve watched him with a tilted head, but as Bucky moved upright, he realized just how correct he was that Steve shouldn’t be here at all. The blond had always been slender, and who should get the lion’s share of the food had been an argument at every meal. Now, however, Steve was practically spindly and seemed covered in a layer of dust and grime. There were dark circles under his eyes and a tremor in his hands. Hands with broken and dirty nails.
Steve looked to be wearing some form of American military fatigues, but he’d lost his coat at some point and the standard issue undershirt seemed far too big on him. It was also stained with sweat and smears of rust. At least, he hoped it was rust. Bucky’s eyes continued down; part of Steve’s trousers were torn and he was missing both boots. One of his socks had gone AWOL as well. Bucky was getting dizzy and realized he was shaking his head.
“Steve. Steve, where are your clothes?”
Steve blinked at him, an awkward, amused smirk on his face. “I’m wearing them, Buck. You’re lookin’ right at ‘em.”
“Stevie, where are your boots? ”
Steve blinked and looked down, as if realizing for the first time that he was barefoot. “Oh. Oh that’s a good question. Where are our boots?” he asked, and stared at nothing as he waited for his answer. Apparently it came quickly, because his eyes snapped back to Bucky again. “They got in the way,” Steve said, with the tone of someone repeating information.
His own weaknesses forgotten for the time being, Bucky reached out to grasp Steve’s shoulders. Under the thin shirt, he was burning up. Bucky immediately pressed the back of his hand to Steve’s forehead. “Oh god, you’re on fire.”
“Thank you!” Steve replied cheerfully. This did nothing to assuage Bucky’s concern.
“Why are you here? ”
Steve blinked at that question, tilting his head to one side as if trying to understand. “...Buck… I’m here because you’re here. And we really should be focusing on getting… ya know. Not here. Before -- yeah exactly. ...Yeah I’m hungry too.”
Bucky didn’t realize his jaw had fallen slack until Steve had reached out with those burning fingertips and gently closed it for him again. “Stevie… What happened to you?” he whispered.
At that, Steve just laughed. “Oh man. So much. Just so much -- yeah that too. Yeah -- yeah we’ll tell him -- you’re the one shoving us out the door. It can wait, right? ...Thank you. Finally.”
“Stevie… Baby… Who are you talking to?”
Steve turned to Bucky and canted his head to the other side now. “Oh… Let’s… Let’s get out of here. And I’ll -- we’ll -- I’ll? Everything will be explained. I promise.”
Bucky didn’t realize he was moving until he’d grabbed Steve by the wrist. To his intense alarm, something quivered under his skin, something more than muscle and bone and tendon. “Steve, tell me! ”
A sound came from Steve’s throat, inhuman and monstrous, but Steve shook his head and lunged forward, pressing his lips to Bucky’s. He was burning up with fever and he smelled of iron and sweat and something Bucky couldn’t quite place. But it was his Stevie. His Stevie here in this awful hellhole, and Bucky looped his arms around him and drew him close, feeling the tack of sweat even through his shirt.
“I promise, I’ll tell you everything -- we’ll tell you everything. But right now, we have to get you out of here. Okay?” Steve’s eyes searched Bucky’s and finally, reluctantly, Bucky nodded in agreement.
The moment Bucky agreed though, he wondered if he would regret it. Steve’s eyes went hazy and he frowned, looking towards the door. “We gotta go. We have company coming. How many?” Steve huffed at whatever response he got. “...No, like a number. You’re useless.” He turned back to Bucky. “Come on. Can you walk? Lean on me, but we gotta get out of here, ‘more than one by a bunch’ are heading in our direction.”
Bucky got to his feet, realizing that he too was barefoot, but that concern felt oddly distant. He waited a moment to make sure he was steady, and then taking Steve’s hand for support, the two of them started to move out into the hall.
Steve moved nearly silently, and though he was staggering only marginally less than Bucky, his gait felt more like a stalk than the stumble of an injured man. He paused, holding up a hand for Bucky to wait, then nodded at nothing and turned around leading him in the opposite direction. “Patrols,” he murmured. “I don’t think they heard anything.”
Bucky was about to respond, but Steve was talking again, seemingly to nothing. “Yeah, I know, I’m hungry too. Yeah, but let’s get him safe first. Protecting Bucky is our priority. Food as soon as we find it. Yes I promise. Yes, I promise.”
“Stevie?” Bucky asked worriedly again.
Steve stopped and turned to face Bucky, smiling that placating smile that Bucky was starting to distrust. “Everything is fine. Just trust me. Try not to shoot me -- us -- in the back and let’s get out of here. Okay?”
Bucky’s mouth was dry, and he worked his jaw a few times to dislodge his tongue from the roof of it. But before he could answer, an inhuman rumble of a voice shook his bones.
“ We have company.”
Steve started to turn, but the HYDRA trooper appeared around the corner and gasped, bringing his firearm to the ready. “ Halt!! Eindringling!! ”
Before either of them could react, Bucky was blinded by the muzzle flash, deafened by the sheer volume of sudden noise. Steve seemed to vibrate, and that otherworldly voice let out a shriek. Then Bucky realized he’d felt something hot spray his face, and as he touched his cheek, he realized it was blood.
He realized it was a lot of blood, and dark flowers were starting to bloom in multiple places on Steve’s thin shirt. Time froze. His Stevie was shot. There was nothing he could do; he could barely stand, let alone fight. As Steve slumped forward a step, the world started to go white around the edges, and his head suddenly felt thick and tight. Bucky wavered on his feet.
“Ah shit…” Bucky heard Steve say. There was a sickening realization that Bucky had just heard his lover, his brother, his best friend’s last words, when the metal grate of the catwalk came rushing up to meet him.