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"Laying in the silence
Waiting for the sirens
Signs, any signs I'm alive still
I don't wanna lose it
But I'm not getting through this
Hey, should I pray? Should I pray, yeah
To myself? To a God?
To a savior who can Unbreak the broken
Unsay these spoken words
Find hope in the hopeless
Pull me out of the train wreck
Unburn the ashes
Unchain the reactions, I'm not ready to die, not yet
Pull me out of the train wreck
Pull me out, pull me out, pull me out..."
-Train Wreck, James Arthur
Steve wasn’t quite sure what woke him. His fingers inched toward his shield, other hand gripping the pistol that nestled against his leg under the blanket.
A moan met his ears amid the nighttime sounds of the Russia mountains.
He held his breath, waiting, trying to decipher from what direction the noise came. He slowly pulled his blanket back and rose to his haunches, studying each form that lay in haphazard lumps around him. All seemed as it should be—including the loud snores coming from the blanketed heap that could only be Dugan—until he heard it again.
Someone was in pain.
He crept around the circle until he stopped at Bucky. The man was whimpering, shaking uncontrollably as he slept. Steve paused, wondering whether or not to wake him.
Bucky groaned again, his face twisting in a kind of anguish that made Steve’s gut clench. He placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and shook gently. “Bucky. Wake up, Buck.”
Bucky jerked awake, eyes wide, and raised his arms in a defensive gesture. “No more. Please.” His eyes were wild with panic, and sweat dripped from the locks of hair that draped over his forehead.
Steve frowned, concern for his friend and the instinct to protect warring with the knowledge that there wasn't a physical enemy to fight. “Buck, it’s me, Steve.”
“Steve?” He slowly lowered his arms, breath coming in ragged gasps. “Is something wrong?”
“I’d like to ask you the same thing.”
“What?”
Steve lowered himself down onto the ground next to Bucky and gave a quick glance around at the other men to make sure they were alone in their conversation. “You were having a nightmare, Buck. Something you need to tell me?” He kept his voice to a whisper.
Bucky blinked and licked his lips, then shook his head and looked away. “No. I’m good to go, Cap.”
His shaking hands betrayed him.
“What happened to you?” Steve’s quiet question almost seemed to have fallen on deaf ears; he waited several minutes for a response before speaking again. “I need to know that the best man on my team is squared away before I send him into battle again.” He paused. “And…I need to make sure that my best friend is okay.”
Bucky nodded, pulling in a deep breath. “I’m fine.” He met Steve’s eyes and held his gaze, managing a small smile that wasn’t entirely reassuring. “Really, Steve. Go back to sleep.”
Steve’s instincts screamed not to leave. But he trusted Bucky, and that didn't really leave him a choice. “All right. Get some rest, Buck.” He slapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder and shoved to his feet. “I want you up and at ‘em with the rest of us in the morning.”
“Sure thing, boss.” The teasing lilt in Bucky’s voice made Steve breathe easier. It was just a dream; maybe Bucky really was okay. He turned and had barely taken two steps back to his bedroll, however, before one word stopped him in his tracks.
“Steve?”
It wasn’t Bucky’s voice; it was the gasping voice of a man who faced his demons each night. Bucky’s smirk was gone, replaced by a face that shone a pasty white in the moonlight, covered in a sheen of sweat. His body convulsed in shudders, teeth chattering. “Steve?”
“I’m here, Buck.” He fell to his knees beside his comrade, grabbed Bucky’s face between his hands, and forced the man to look at him. “Bucky. I’m here. I’m here. Look at me.”
Bucky’s eyes finally met his, and Steve’s gut clenched at the sheer terror they reflected. “Steve,” he rasped, eyes barely focusing, “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I get past it?”
“What happened, Buck?”
“I-I can’t—”
“ Bucky. I’m here. You’re safe. You’re part of the Howling Commandos and we’re on a mission to take down Red Skull. You’re lying on the ground and just woke up from a nightmare. Talk to me, Buck.”
“He’s in my head, Steve.” Bucky’s voice was thin, weak. “He’s in my head and I can’t get him out. How do I get him out?” He began to shake again, violently and uncontrollably. His chest heaved. “How do I get him out, Steve?”
Steve clenched his jaw until it popped, alternating between wanting to weep for Bucky and wanting to murder Johann Schmidt in a thousand different ways. Bucky had always been the calm one, the level-headed rock to Steve's hotheaded patriotism. How had their roles suddenly become reversed? “I don’t know, Buck,” he finally admitted. “But I promise you, I’m going to stay beside you every step of the way until you do.”
“Don’t leave me, Steve. Please don’t leave.” His fingers clutched Steve's arm in a death grip, fingernails digging even through his coat sleeve.
Steve settled in next to his best friend, kneeling at his side and holding one of Bucky’s hands in both of his own. "I'm never leaving you, Buck. Never." He waited, a long time, until the man’s breaths evened into slumber, then let out a long, slow breath. “Never."