Chapter 11
Bucky stared out the window of his apartment. The sky was overcast, gray clouds hanging low like a heavy blanket, mirroring the weight in his chest. The city outside buzzed with life, but it felt distant, unreal—like it was on a different planet.
His head throbbed, the persistent headache gnawing at him from the inside. He had been up for hours, unable to sleep, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t quite grasp. His appointment with the neuro-oncologist was today. This wasn’t just any appointment—it was the briefing before the battle, the moment when he would learn exactly what kind of fight lay ahead.
He knew he needed to finish getting ready, but the thought of getting up from his spot on the couch felt overwhelming. He had taken the couch, insisting that Sam at least get some semblance of rest on the air mattress in the tiny bedroom he had never used. Sam agreed, as long as Bucky promised to sleep on the couch and not the floor, like he usually did. Bucky had tried—he really had—but it wasn’t just the appointment that kept him up. It was everything that came with it: the fear, the uncertainty, the loss of control. The possibility that this was something he couldn’t fight, something he couldn’t win.
His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his body tense with the urge to run. The instinct was primal, buried deep within him from years of being hunted, of needing to escape to survive. He could picture it so clearly—grabbing his jacket, slipping out the door, disappearing into the city where no one could find him.
For a moment, the fantasy of running away was almost intoxicating. The idea of slipping away, of leaving all this behind, felt like freedom. He could avoid the hospital, the doctors, the terrifying unknown that awaited him in that sterile, cold office. He could avoid the look in Sam’s eyes—the one filled with concern and unshakable faith that everything would be okay, even though Bucky knew it might not be.
But then reality crashed back down, harsh and unforgiving. Bucky knew he couldn’t run. He wasn’t the man who ran anymore—he was the man who faced things head-on, no matter how much it hurt. Running would mean leaving Sam behind, leaving everyone who cared about him to worry and wonder if he was okay. It would mean giving up before the fight even began.
He opened his eyes, staring out at the city below, and forced himself to breathe. In, out. Slow, steady. He couldn’t let fear take over—not now. He had been through worse, hadn’t he? He had survived things that should have broken him a long time ago. He wasn’t going to let this be the thing that took him down. Bucky Barnes wasn’t going to be defeated by something as mortal as cancer.
The sound of movement in the apartment broke through his thoughts. Bucky turned slightly to see Sam coming out of the bedroom, already dressed, his expression unreadable but focused. Bucky knew Sam had been up early too—he could hear the soft footsteps in the hallway, the running water in the bathroom, the sound of keys clacking on a computer—the grief-filled sighs that accompanied them.
Sam glanced over at Bucky, his gaze softening as he took in the tension radiating from him. “Morning,” Sam said quietly, as if not to startle him. “How’d you sleep?”
“Didn’t,” Bucky replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “Kept thinking about today.”
Sam didn’t push, didn’t ask if he was okay or if he wanted to talk about it. He just nodded, his face calm, reassuring. “You ready?” he asked simply.
Bucky didn’t answer right away. His chest tightened, the urge to run flaring up again. But he forced himself to push it down, to meet Sam’s eyes and nod, even though the word *ready* felt like a lie. “Yeah,” he finally managed to say, his voice rough with emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge.
“I’m coming with you. We’re going to hear what the doctors have to say and make a plan, together. Then afterward, we’ll go look at some apartments I found,” Sam said.
Bucky felt a lump rise in his throat at the words. He wanted to believe them, wanted to take comfort in the idea that he wasn’t alone in this fight. But a part of him, conditioned by years of pain and isolation, still couldn’t fully trust it. He still couldn’t let himself lean on someone else, not completely.
But he didn’t pull away when Sam’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, grounding him in the present, in the here and now. He didn’t flinch when Sam gave him that look—the one that said he wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how hard Bucky tried to push him away.
“Okay,” Bucky said after a long moment, his voice barely above a whisper. It was the closest he could come to letting Sam in, to admitting that he was terrified, that he needed him now more than ever. “Thanks.”
With a quiet sigh, Bucky pushed off the couch and headed toward the bedroom to grab his jacket. The simple act of moving, of doing something, helped ground him, even if just a little.
As he slipped on his jacket, Bucky caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The reflection that stared back at him looked tired, older than he remembered. The lines on his face were deeper, his eyes shadowed by dark circles. He looked like a man who had been through hell—and he had. But there was still a spark of determination there, a flicker of the fire that had kept him alive through so much.
He looked away, unable to meet his gaze for long, and made his way back to the living room where Sam was waiting. Sam gave him a small, encouraging smile, and Bucky felt a pang of guilt. Sam was always there, always steady, always ready to fight alongside him, even when Bucky wasn’t sure he could fight for himself.
“Let’s go,” Bucky said, the words more for himself than for Sam. He needed to say it out loud, to make it real, to remind himself that he wasn’t going to run.
Sam nodded, leading the way out of the apartment. As they stepped into the hallway, Bucky felt the familiar weight of anxiety settle in his chest, but he kept moving. One foot in front of the other, he followed Sam down the stairs, through the lobby, and out onto the street.
They walked in silence, Sam occasionally glancing at Bucky as if checking to make sure he was still with him. And Bucky was, physically at least. But his mind was racing, battling the urge to turn around, to run in the opposite direction and never look back.
As they approached the hospital, the building looming large in front of them, Bucky’s steps faltered. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat loud and insistent. He could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on him, the choice between facing what was to come or giving in to the fear that clawed at him.
But then Sam was there, his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, grounding him. “I’m right here, Buck,” Sam said softly, his voice steady. “We’re doing this together.”
Bucky swallowed hard, his throat tight. He nodded, the motion stiff, and took a deep breath. He could do this. He had to do this. For himself, for Sam, for everyone who believed in him.
They checked in at the front desk, the nurse giving them a sympathetic smile as she handed Bucky the necessary forms. He filled them out mechanically, the words on the page blurring together as his headache pulsed behind his eyes.
When he was done, they sat down in the waiting room, the silence between them heavy. Bucky stared at the clock on the wall, the seconds ticking by with agonizing slowness. Every tick felt like a countdown, each one bringing him closer to the moment he couldn’t avoid.
His hands were clenched into fists on his lap, his knuckles white. The urge to run was still there, lurking beneath the surface, but he kept it in check, kept himself from bolting out of that room and never looking back.
“James Barnes?” a nurse called out, and Bucky’s heart skipped a beat. He felt Sam’s hand on his arm, a gentle squeeze of reassurance.
“Come on,” Sam said quietly, standing up. “We got this.”
Bucky nodded, taking a deep breath as he pushed himself to his feet. His legs felt heavy, like they were made of lead, but he forced them to move, to follow Sam down the long, sterile hallway. Each step felt like it was taking him closer to the edge of a cliff, but he kept going, because the only other option was to fall.
And Bucky wasn’t ready to fall. Not yet.
As they reached the door to Dr. Jensen’s office, Bucky hesitated for just a moment. He glanced at Sam, who was watching him with that same steady gaze, the one that told Bucky that Sam wasn’t going to let him do this alone.
Dr. Pamela Jensen greeted them with a warm, professional smile and a firm handshake. Her calm demeanor did little to ease the nerves gnawing at Bucky’s stomach. She was a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, her graying hair pulled back in a neat bun, and she radiated a quiet confidence that was both comforting and intimidating.
“Mr. Barnes?” Dr. Jensen asked gently.
Bucky stepped forward, extending his hand in greeting. “Yes, that’s me. Call me Bucky.”
Dr. Jensen shook his hand firmly. “I’m Dr. Pamela Jensen. It’s good to meet you. Please, come on in.”
She turned her attention to Sam, her eyes softening as she extended her hand. “And you must be?”
“Sam Wilson,” Sam said, shaking her hand. “I’m Bucky’s roommate,” he added with a small smile and a glance at Bucky.
“Thank you for being here, Mr. Wilson,” Dr. Jensen said, her voice sincere. She motioned to the chairs across from her desk. “Please, have a seat.”
Bucky and Sam settled into the chairs, facing Dr. Jensen as she took her place behind the desk. The room was small, with walls adorned with certificates and medical degrees, a testament to her expertise. Yet, despite the impressive credentials on display, the atmosphere felt heavy with the weight of what was to come.
Dr. Jensen folded her hands on the desk and met Bucky’s gaze with a steady, compassionate look. “Let’s talk about what we’re dealing with.”
Dr. Jensen pulled up the scans on the computer screen, rotating it slightly so both Bucky and Sam could see. The image was stark—a mass in his brain, outlined in a way that made Bucky's stomach clench. She took a deep breath before beginning, her voice calm and measured.
“Mr. Barnes, what you’re seeing here is the glioblastoma,” she explained, pointing to the bright, irregular shape on the scan. “It’s located in the frontal lobe of your brain, which is responsible for things like reasoning, problem-solving, and motor functions. Given its position and your unique physiology, we’ve put together a treatment plan that’s both comprehensive and tailored to your needs.”
She paused, glancing at both of them to ensure they were following. Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, urging her to continue.
“First, we’ll start with pre-treatment preparation,” she began, swiping to the next section on the screen. “You have already had a full neurological evaluation by Dr. Stephen Strange to assess your cognitive and motor functions, which has been added to your chart. You have also recently had a CT scan, but I’d like to get an EEG and MRI done. I see that an EEG was ordered but it doesn’t look like it was completed. You will be sent home with that today, and it will be worn over the next 48 hours. As for the MRI, I understand that your arm is vibranium, which I don’t think will be a problem, but I will do some research and have an answer by the time you finish the EEG. These advanced imaging studies will help us map the tumor precisely, and you’ll undergo a series of tests to ensure there are no underlying conditions that could complicate the treatment. Once we have your results for these tests and a comprehensive medical history, you will be scheduled for surgery.”
Sam leaned forward slightly, his gaze intent. “And that will be done by Dr. Hartley, correct?” he asked, his voice steady.
“Yes,” Dr. Jensen confirmed, shifting to the next part of the plan. “Dr. Evan Hartley will lead the surgical team to perform the maximal safe resection of the tumor. We’ll use advanced imaging techniques and real-time brain mapping during the procedure to minimize any potential damage to critical areas of your brain. We’ll also implant a port under your skin near your collarbone that will make it easier to administer chemotherapy and other necessary medications without repeatedly accessing your veins.”
Bucky’s hands tightened into fists on his lap, his knuckles white. The thought of someone cutting into his brain, no matter how skilled, sent a chill down his spine.
“Post-surgery,” Dr. Jensen continued, “you’ll be closely monitored in the ICU for any neurological changes. We’ll manage your pain and begin early physical and cognitive rehabilitation. Your enhanced physiology complicates things a bit, but it also offers potential advantages. For instance, we can use targeted therapies that leverage your body’s unique characteristics, and your enhanced healing abilities might help you recover more quickly from surgery.”
She clicked to the next section, now displaying detailed diagrams of radiation therapy protocols. “Following surgery, we’ll proceed with radiation therapy. We’ll use either stereotactic radiosurgery or intensity-modulated radiation therapy, depending on the surgical outcome. This will involve daily sessions, every weekday, for six to eight weeks. The therapy will be adjusted to account for your enhanced metabolism, requiring more frequent sessions at higher intensities than usual.”
“For chemotherapy, we’ll start with Temozolomide, taken orally twice a day for five days at home, followed by a 23-day break,” Dr. Jensen explained, her tone steady but serious. “We’ve modified the dosage and frequency to suit your enhanced metabolism. Additionally, Avastin will be administered weekly through your port at the hospital to target the tumor’s blood supply, and Lomustine will be taken orally every three weeks for added cytotoxic effects. These doses are unprecedented, so while we can’t fully predict the intensity of side effects, we expect them to be severe. We’ll closely monitor you and provide supportive care to manage them as effectively as possible.”
Dr. Jensen glanced at Bucky before continuing. “Because of the increased intensity and frequency, we anticipate significant side effects, including severe nausea, fatigue, and pain. We’re developing specialized pain and anti-nausea medications tailored to your unique physiology, but finding what works best will involve some trial and error.”
She paused, her gaze intensifying as she delivered her next point. “Given the treatment's intensity and potential severity of the side effects, I strongly recommend you stay inpatient for the duration. This will allow us to monitor you continuously, manage complications immediately, and adjust the treatment plan as needed.”
Bucky’s face tightened, clearly uncomfortable with the suggestion. Sensing his friend’s unease, Sam placed a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder.
Noticing the tension, Dr. Jensen addressed the concern directly. “I understand that staying in the hospital is not ideal. However, with the complexity of the treatments and potential side effects, a controlled environment would be beneficial.”
Sam interjected, “I’ll be there with him. I’ll manage things and ensure he’s as comfortable as possible. I have EMT training from my time in pararescue. I can administer medication and monitor him. It would be beneficial for him to avoid inpatient care unless absolutely necessary.”
Dr. Jensen nodded reassuringly. “That arrangement could work, provided we have a detailed plan for monitoring and managing any issues. We can also arrange for nurse visits if needed. Your support will be invaluable in making this process smoother. We can start outpatient, but if at any point it’s deemed necessary for you to be admitted, I will let you know.”
She paused, allowing them to absorb the information before moving on to the final section. “Finally, we’ll provide extensive supportive care throughout your treatment. This includes pain management, anti-nausea medications, anticonvulsants, and psychological support with Dr. Christina Raynor. Physical and occupational therapy will begin as soon as possible after surgery to help you regain strength and function.”
The screen darkened as Dr. Jensen turned her full attention back to them. “I know this is a lot to take in, and it’s not an easy path ahead. But we’ve assembled a team of experts who will be with you every step of the way. Our goal is to give you the best possible outcome while managing the challenges that come with this diagnosis.”
Bucky looked at Sam, who gave him a small, reassuring nod. Then he turned back to Dr. Jensen, his resolve hardening despite the fear gnawing at him. “Alright,” he said quietly, his voice filled with determination. “Let’s do this.”
The appointment wrapped up with instructions for the next steps, and Bucky found himself back in the waiting room, the weight of everything pressing down on him. But this time, the urge to run wasn’t as strong. He could still feel it there, lurking in the back of his mind, but it was manageable.
Sam looked at him, his expression softening. “You good?”
Bucky nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”
It was another lie, but Sam didn’t call him out on it. Instead, he just stood up, holding out his hand. “Come on. Let’s get the rest of this over with so we can find a new home.”