Chapter 3
In the dimly lit safehouse in Latvia, Sam Wilson stood beside Bucky Barnes, his worry palpable in the quiet room. They had been waiting for Joaquin, who would be here within the hour to take them back to New York City. Sam couldn't shake the memory of the previous night—the seizure, the vomiting—and he knew Bucky had been hiding more symptoms from him.
"Bucky," Sam said softly, his voice breaking through the uneasy silence. "Hey, wake up. It's time to get ready to go."
After hastily packing, Bucky settled back into bed, intending to catch some sleep while waiting for Joaquin. This surprised Sam, who knew Bucky typically avoided sleep whenever possible.
"Buck," Sam called softly, noticing Bucky drifting off again. "You sure you're okay?"
Bucky stirred, half-asleep, managing a weak nod. His unexpected willingness to rest had Sam feeling uneasy.
When Joaquin arrived, he was surprised to hear about the events that had happened in his absence. “Dude, why didn’t you call? I could have had a chopper down here in a few hours!”
Sighing, Sam said, “You know how he is! I thought he would be fine waiting until morning. He was exhausted, and I thought it would be better for him, in the long run, to get some sleep in a bed.”
"Okay, whatever," Joaquin said dismissively. "You know him better than I do. Let’s get moving. Grab your stuff and hop in the truck. The plane is waiting at the airport down the road." Joaquin gestured towards the door before turning and heading out.
Sam walked over to where Bucky was resting. “Hey, Bucky, I’m sorry, but you need to get up.”
Bucky stirred from his restless sleep, his eyes fluttering open. He looked at Sam, briefly disoriented. The weariness in his eyes spoke volumes, and Sam could see the anxiety in them.
"We need to go, Buck," Sam continued gently, offering a hand to help Bucky up. "Joaquin's waiting outside.
Bucky nodded silently, a mix of resignation and apprehension clouding his expression. He trusted Sam implicitly, but the thought of facing whatever lay ahead filled him with a quiet dread.
As they gathered their belongings, Sam remained steady by Bucky's side, silently reassuring him that were in this together. They made their way out of the safe house, the cool Latvian air hitting them as they stepped outside.
Joaquin greeted them with a nod from behind the wheel, his expression unreadable but steadfast. Sam followed Bucky into the car, settling in beside him as they prepared to leave the safe house behind.
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On the flight back to New York from Latvia, Sam watched Bucky stare out the window, lost in thought. He'd been distant and quiet since their departure, and Sam couldn't shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong.
"What’s on your mind?" Sam asked, his voice filled with concern.
Bucky turned to him, his expression pained. "Sam, I... I haven't told you everything," he admitted, his voice barely audible above the jet engines.
Sam furrowed his brow, sensing the gravity of Bucky's tone. "What do you mean?"
Bucky sighed heavily, his gaze dropping to his hands clasped tightly in his lap. "It's more than just headaches," he began, the words coming out in a rush.
"There have been times when I’ve woken up on the floor, and I can’t remember how I got there. I think they were seizures. And the headaches... they're unbearable sometimes. I get dizzy, my vision blurs. I've been throwing up more often than I'd like to admit. Then there's this tremor in my hand that’s been getting worse."
Sam's heart sank at Bucky's words. "Have you mentioned this to Dr. Raynor?" he asked, referring to their therapist.
Bucky shook his head. "No," he admitted. "I thought it would go away. But it's not getting better, Sam. It's getting worse."
Sam reached out and placed a reassuring hand on Bucky's shoulder. "Buck, you need to get checked out," he said firmly. "It could be something serious."
Bucky nodded, his expression pained. "I know," he murmured. "And it's not just the physical stuff. My nightmares... they've been worse, too. And my memory..."
Sam waited, sensing Bucky was struggling to find the right words. "What about your memory?" he prompted gently.
Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Names. Faces. Sometimes I forget where I am," he confessed quietly. "It's like... my mind is slipping away, piece by piece."
Sam felt a knot tighten in his chest. "Buck, this sounds serious," he said, his voice laced with worry. "We'll get you to the best doctors, run some tests..."
Bucky looked away, a mix of shame and fear clouding his features. "I haven't had good experiences with doctors," he confessed quietly. "And I... I thought the serum meant I couldn't get sick. That it would protect me from everything."
"I understand, Buck," he said softly. "But we can't ignore this. We need to know what's going on so we can help you."
Bucky glanced out the window, his jaw tight. "I don't want to end up in a lab again, Sam," he admitted quietly, his voice tinged with bitterness.
Sam's heart sank. He understood Bucky's fear all too well—the fear of losing control, of being subjected to experiments, of reliving past traumas. He didn't want to push too hard, but he also knew they couldn't afford to wait any longer.
"We'll figure this out together, okay?" Sam reassured Bucky. "You're not alone in this."
Bucky managed a small, grateful smile, feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders. "Thanks, Sam," he said quietly, appreciating Sam's unwavering support.
As the plane descended towards JFK Airport, Bucky Barnes gazed out of the window, his thoughts a turbulent mix of anxiety and uncertainty. Returning to New York City was meant to bring clarity, but Bucky couldn't shake the fear of what awaited him.
The sight of the city skyline approaching filled Bucky with a strange mix of relief and apprehension. New York, with its towering buildings and bustling streets, felt both familiar and overwhelming at that moment.
As the plane touched down and taxied towards the gate, Bucky took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. Sam reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Bucky's arm, a silent reminder that he wasn't alone in this.
"We're here, Buck," Sam said softly as they gathered their belongings. "Let's get you home."
Bucky nodded, grateful for Sam's steadying presence. They navigated through the airport before hailing a cab.
The drive through the city was quiet, the hum of traffic outside the car providing a backdrop to the silence between them. They reached Bucky's apartment building, a simple and safe place in uncertain times. Sam insisted on going inside with Bucky, providing constant support every step of the way.
Inside the familiar space, Bucky felt a mix of relief and nervousness. He knew he couldn't postpone facing the truth any longer. Sam settled them in the living room, turning on the tv.
"Buck," Sam began gently, taking a seat beside him, "we're going to figure this out, okay? Whatever it is, we'll face it together."
Bucky nodded silently, a wave of gratitude washing over him. Even though the journey ahead seemed tough, it was comforting to know that he had a buddy like Sam with him.
As they sat together in Bucky's apartment, the reality of being back in New York hit them. Whatever the news might be, they were back home and ready to face it together, finding strength in their long-lasting friendship every step of the way.