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After marching back to base, Bucky had wanted nothing more than to lay down and just let himself rest. Everything fucking hurt. He knew that wasn't an option, so he'd lingered enough to show how proud he was of Steve. He'd disappeared quickly after, though, not wanting to be suffocated by the other soldiers. He also didn't really want to face the Colonel either, or any of those assholes. He'd get his orders later, and he'd deal with the lecture for whatever damn thing Phillips was pissed off about this time.
Right now he needed a drink.
Bucky had slunk into one of the smaller, empty tents, and grabbed a flask. The pain was annoying and his head was pounding, but there were plenty of men worse off that the medics needed to focus on. A couple of drinks and he'd be fine. He drowned as much of the burning liquor as he could in one go, choking on it as he did. He quickly stifled his coughs and sighed, leaning his head against one of the cold metal poles for some sort of relief.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard someone enter and his head snapped up, relieved when he saw who it was. Steve.
“Shouldn't you be gettin' some reward or somethin'?" He quipped, taking another swig from the flask.
He watched out of the corner of his eyes as Steve closed the tent behind him, expression full of concern. Dammit. Out of everyone, Steve had always known him best.
“You okay?”
"Course I am. Just need a good night's sleep and I'll be right as rain."
The response was almost automatic, purely instinctual. He’d always been sure to be strong, especially in front of Steve. Now was no different, no matter how much… taller the man was. It was still Steve. Still his Steve. He had to take care of him, just like before.
“You look like shit, Buck.”
Steve’s bluntness caught Bucky a little off guard, but he just shrugged it off, downing the rest of the vile liquor. No matter what, he wouldn’t let Steve worry about him. He caught sight of himself in one of the small mirrors left around and he sighed. God, he looked almost worse than he felt - pale and bruised. Whatever Zola had done... It hadn't been easy to fight against, that was for sure.
"Thanks." He rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his words. "Not like you look great either."
Steve feigned a smirk. "Yeah, I don't think so either. Scrawny and about to drop dead any second was far more my style," he joked. He sat down on one of the beds in the tent. "It was worth it though."
"You're an idiot," Bucky told him with a shake of his head, though there was a fondness to it. "Ya know that?"
"I know.” Steve’s voice was softer now. "But seriously, Buck. Are you okay?"
Bucky didn't look at Steve, staring down at the rough ground beneath his feet. He felt worse than he'd ever admit (and looked it, not that he realised). He couldn't stop fucking shaking, and he looked lost more than anything.
Scared.
Confused.
"I'm fine, Steve. You ain't gotta worry about me. The others are worse off."
"I saw the look in your eyes, Buck. I know you better than anyone else.” Steve sighed, moving closer to his side. “Don't."
"I don't know what you want me to say," Bucky spoke, voice quieter now. More vulnerable. He stepped away from Steve "I thought I was going to die.”
“I won't let that happen," Steve promised. "I'll keep you safe."
Bucky just shook his head. "I know ya will." Despite Steve's appearance, it was evident that it was still the same reckless idiot inside. The thought almost made him smile. Almost.
"And I'm here. No matter how long it takes, I'll be here when you're ready to talk about it."
Bucky felt himself tense and he turned away from Steve, closing his eyes. "I know.
He didn't know if he'd ever be ready, but... It was nice. Having Steve there. He cleared his throat, composing himself, shoving all his pain down. Away.
"Whatever they're doin' in their damn bases, it needs to stop Steve."
Steve’s response was immediate. "I know. We'll stop them. I swear.”
Bucky shook his head, turning back to face Steve. "No, you don't get it, they-" His voice wavered and he cringed, kicking himself. He had to be stronger than this. Fuck! "They took so many men and none of them came back, and whatever they're tryna accomplish, Zola wants it finished."
Steve sighed and shook his head. "We'll find them. And we'll stop Zola from taking anyone else."
Bucky felt nausea rise in his throat as he remembered the faces of the many that they had lost. Remembered their laughs, and their smiles as they sat around camp. Remembered their corpses staring up at him, their last screams shown plain as daylight on their faces.
His stomach turned and his knuckles went white on the bench that he was leaning against. He forced himself to nod at Steve. "Good."
"Buck," Bucky thought he might actually be sick at the softness in Steve’s voice. "Look at me."
He felt his chest tighten and he swallowed down the bile that burned his throat more than the alcohol ever would. He forced a smile, relaxing his posture. Dammit, why was this so hard?! Why couldn't he hide this?
"I'm alright, really."
Steve shook his head again, still refusing to back off. "Sit down, Buck. Let yourself breathe. I won't tell anyone."
Bucky frowned at him, struggling to keep the mask of calm on.
Even when he'd been beaten as a kid, when Sarah had died, when he'd been almost dead every day after work at the docks, when he'd been drafted into this bullshit war, he'd never let himself be weak. Not around Steve, anyway. Not around anyone, really.
"I just need to sleep, Steve, and I'll get that soon enough." He could barely stand, but that didn't matter. He gripped the table, keeping himself steady.
Steve stood up. "Then sleep." It was almost a challenge. "I'll be here, I'll keep watch."
Bucky looked at Steve and something in his expression shifted. He knew he should sleep, he knew it would help but... He didn't want to. He didn't want to see it all again. It was too fresh, too new.
"I don't need a damn babysitter." He moved to leave, his legs almost giving out beneath him.
"I'm not trying to babysit you," Steve insisted. "Just sit down, goddamnit. You're about to pass out."
Bucky glared at him, his exhaustion finally taking over his brain. "Back off Steve! I-" He began to walk over to tell him off, but his legs gave out below him and he crumpled to the ground with a grunt.
Steve's stomach dropped and he picked Bucky up, putting him on the bed. "Christ, Buck. How many lectures have you given me about staying in bed when I'm supposed to."
Bucky huffed, a little embarrassed that Steve was picking him up (and that he COULD pick him up). "I'm fine Steve, you ain't my damn mother." He pushed the other man away.
"No, but she'd have my hide if I didn't help you."
Bucky sighed and he closed his eyes, hissing through his teeth as his head ached in protest against the harsh light of the world around him. The fight left him and he let himself fall back into the bed, looking up at Steve.
"If I rest, will you get off my damn back?"
Steve nodded, seeming to somewhat soften. Bucky felt his heart melt and he tore his gaze away before it showed on his face. Steve didn’t need... That. Not with everything else going on. No, no way.
“I’ll, uh, I’ll see you later, Buck.”
Bucky watched as Steve left, walking out of the tent. He sighed and grabbed the flask, downing the rest of the liquor. It didn’t seem to be doing anything, not yet, and he just hoped it would kick in soon. He wished Steve hadn’t come. He was grateful to be alive, hell that was for sure. But Steve… He was supposed to be home. Safe. Not here. Not in this hellscape. He knew now, he would do everything in his power to keep Steve safe.
No matter what that meant.