Twisted Ends

Lights.

He could see the crimson red of his eyelids bleeding into his retinas, sparks flying and dancing as lights flashed rapidly from somewhere above him. He could hear the insufferable humming of electricity, shrill and buzzing so explosively it felt as if his skull was vibrating. He could taste metallic on his laden tongue, could feel the cracks embedded deeply into his lips as he let out a moan.

Fuck.

Could someone, anyone, make it stop? He tightened his hands into fists, feeling a rough fabric brush against his fingertips. Cotton?

Who the fuck cared? He gripped it with all his strength, wincing as the percussion of ripping assaulted his ears. He tried to open his eyes, but they seemed to be glued shut, a thick crust embedded into his lashes. Another groan, this one unintentional.

He felt…not great. That fucking humming, the lights, and something…else, just out of his minds reach. He focused with the little energy he had, tugging at that thread. Somewhere in his subconscious was yelling, no, SCREAMING, to just STOP. Leave it alone, you fucking idiot. Just for ONCE, leave it the fuck alone.

But Bucky had never been one for following orders, even if he was the one ordering them, or rather, his sluggish brain. He tugged again at that little string, fighting and clawing his way to awareness.

A rush of sheer agony slammed into him, immediately making him regret his decision. God damnit. Why didn’t he ever listen?

It was unbearable, all encompassing. All around him was just pure, raw, burning pain. The kind of pain that made you eat a bullet as quickly as you could pull the trigger, no chance to second guess. His blood, no. Fuck that shit. His entire BEING was on fire from within, every fiber and muscle ablaze.

Bucky felt himself arch off of whatever he was laying on, fists gripping the torn cotton underneath him as he let out an anguished wail. He screamed as his eyes tore open, the fluorescent lights making them slam shut almost immediately. Something warm pressed firmly against his left shoulder, the motion causing another wave of fire to spark across his skin.

He flung himself to the side, his ears struggling to make sense of the commotion surrounding him. Underneath the shrill hum of the lights, he swore he could make out voices. And they were familiar. At least, they seemed familiar. But right now he wasn’t sure of anything. Only thing he knew was that he wanted this pain to stop.

“You’re okay! You’re okay!” A familiar voice cooed through the blurry haze of consciousness, the smooth baritone somewhat soothing his eardrums. So familiar-

“-Bucky! You’re okay! It’s Sam! Hang in there, okay? Stop fighting-”

Sam. What a nice name his brain thought somewhat deliriously as he continued to thrash against the forces holding him down. Tethering him down. He knew that name, didn’t he? Sam…Sam, Sam- Sam?!

The club. The neurotoxin. The explosion. Everything was rushing back like a machine gun, mowing him down in pain and-

And fear.

Fuck. No. Terror. Sheer, utter, bone chilling terror.

He wasn’t safe. SAM wasn’t safe. They were being chased- they were being attacked! What the hell was he doing?!

Bucky roared as he flung himself upward, tucking his body neatly into a tight ball as he rolled forward. His shoulders left whatever he was laying on to an immediate drop off, a cry leaving his lips as his knees slammed down onto the ground.

“Bucky!”

The ground was cold underneath his hands, his vision swimming as he blinked aggressively down at what looked to be shitty linoleum tiles.

‘Focus, Barnes.’ Bucky shot up to his feet, grunting as he quickly fell back down. His legs were refusing to hold his weight, his arms barely fairing better as they quivered from exertion. He could feel blood beginning to dribble from his lips, the soft patter of the droplets hitting the tile beneath him reaching his ears.

What the fuck was going on? Bucky screwed his eyes shut, giving his head a quick shake as he struggled back to his feet. He could hear someone barking orders, voices swirling into a sea of panic around him. Goosebumps were prickling the skin of his neck, the Winter Soldiers senses kicking into overdrive. He could FEEL the eyes around him without even looking, could feel the leering gazes, could practically taste the anxiety drowning him-

Another touch to his shoulder caused him to violently jerk backwards, gravity tugging him onto his back. He let out a cry as he slammed into the ground, his body quivering and sweaty. He fought to clamber back up, wheezing as he felt the panic attack beginning to tighten his chest. He needed to get up, to get to-

Sam. Who kneeling beside him, eyes wide as his hands hovered just over Bucky’s chest. What the fuck was going on?

Bucky quickly scanned the room, the sound of his labored breathing sharp and jagged in his ears. There were officers, people in scrubs. He was laying in the center of a sterile looking hallway, people gawking at him-

He was at a hospital.

What. The absolute. Fuck.

Bucky fought down the terror bubbling inside of him, threatening to burst like a dam. Hand flying out, he gripped onto Sam’s arm with all the strength he could muster, forgetting his own strength as he whimpered, “Sam?”

Sam’s eyes met his own, his hand moving to meet Bucky’s as he whispered back, “It’s alright, Buck. I promise.” Sam continued, his voice as smooth as silk as he rubbed his fingers against Bucky’s knuckles. “You’re alright, you’re safe.”

Bucky shook his head before groaning, the motion sending floaters into his vision. Everything went dark and murky at the edges, but the fear forced him to stay focused. He could see the scrubs starting to slowly move in. He felt his heart rate spike.

“No, Sam. We aren’t safe.” He rushed, his wheezing causing his throat to tighten around the words. He let out a cough, cursing as more blood wet his lips. “We’ve gotta get OUT, Sam. Sharon’s goons, they’re right behind us-”

“No, Bucky. They aren’t. Torres and Rhodes took care of what was left after the explosion. We’re safe, I promise you, but you’ve got to calm down.” Sam placed a hand on each shoulder as Bucky attempted to stand, his brown eyes wide and pleading. “Buck, please. You’ve lost a lot of blood, you’re not thinking clearly. You have to let the doctors work. You’ve been poisoned, but they can help.”

“No.” Bucky felt his eyes welling with tears, blinking rapidly as he fought them. His head swiveled around, leering back at the scrubs who were looking at him like some kind of freak. A science experiment, just plopped into their lap. And who the fuck knew if Sharon had someone on the inside? They couldn’t. They couldn’t know, he couldn’t-

“Buck, you’ve got to breathe. You’re hyperventilating. Breathe. Breathe with me. Focus on me.” A hand slowly made it to Bucky’s cheek, warm and comforting as he fought for air.

“Buck, do you trust me?” Sam asked, voice low. Bucky gave a slow nod, feeling his body beginning to shut down from the stress. His heart was beating wildly, threatening to blow out of his chest cavity at any moment. Everything was beginning to go painfully numb.

He ran his tongue over his coppery lips, fighting the wheezes rattling in his chest. “You-” He breathed in slowly, “You know I do, S’m.”

Sam’s hand gripped just the tiniest bit tighter on his cheek, eyes welling with unshed tears. His own voice was shaky. “Okay.” Sam nodded, giving him a tight smile. “Good, because otherwise I’d be upset.” His tone lost its forced chipperness. “Let go, Buck. I’ve got you. Rest and I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

Bucky blinked up at Sam, wondering when he’d suddenly ended right back on the ground, head lolling from side to side. His gaze wandered to the doctors surrounding them, the white lights, the smell of cleaner and rubber.

He didn’t want to let go, but he knew, more than anything, that he could trust Sam. That Sam wouldn’t let anything happen while he was under.

Sam had his back. He’d protect him. Make sure he was safe, and that no one would hurt him. He was safe.

Sam was safe…and he was safe, because Sam was with him. Guarding him.

Bucky felt his eyes flicker shut, the darkness creeping from his toes and up his limbs, the weight of unconsciousness heavy on his chest. He reached a hand out desperately, clinging to Sam as he felt the earth give away underneath him. Everything went dark.

___________________________________

“Well that was a fucking shit show.” Sam turned slowly, glaring daggers as Rhodey came to a stop beside him. The other man reeked of sweat and smoke, and he looked as if he’d been rolling in an ashtray. Sam risked a quick glance down at himself, wincing as he noted he wasn’t fairing much better. He felt like he could smell every clogged pore in his body. Every grain of dirt pricking at his flesh. He felt disgusting.

“Shut it, Rhodes.” Sam slowly sank down against the wall behind him, groaning as every muscle screamed in protest. He pointedly ignored their protest, slumping down with a faint thump against the chilled ground. He then gave a hazy look up, raising an eyebrow at Rhodey glaring up at him from above.

“You’re not just going to stand over me like a dick, are you?” Sam patted the space beside him. “Plenty of room.”

“Don’t think I could get up if I did.” Rhodey deadpanned, going ahead and sitting down anyway. He cursed the entire way to the floor, forcefully grabbing his knees to plant them to his chest. “I’m getting too old for this shit, Wilson.” An audible pop as his hands landed heavily in his lap. “Too fucking old.”

Sam gave a lopsided grin. Rhodey’s head slowly rotated to the side, giving Sam a pointed look. “Fucking what?”

“You sound like a rice krispy treat.”

“I’ll turn you into a rice krispy treat if you don’t shut it.”

“Jesus, you sound like Barnes.”

Rhodey grunted, cracking his neck as he made himself comfortable, the pop enough to cause a nurse to pause in her steps. Rhodey waved her off, feigning a pleasant smile as she slowly continued on her trek down the hall.

“Yeah, well. Feel about a century old at the moment. If the shoe fits.”

Sam sighed, picking at the blood still caked underneath his fingernails. He felt his eyes prickling as he flicked off the dried blood, quickly pointing his chin upward to stare blankly at the ceiling. “Yeah,” Sam drawled, feeling a deep, bone bruising ache in his gut. “Think he’s feeling a bit more than that at the moment.”

Rhodey immediately turned to him, giving his shoulder a firm shake. “Stop that shit.” Rhodey shook his head sternly, eyes narrowing as he observed Sam’s face. “Knock it off right now, Sam. All this bullshit that just happened. Not on you.”

Sam scoffed, eyes still plastered to the ceiling above. “Really wish I believed that, Rhodes. I really do, because it just feels like I’m the common denominator that keeps getting Barnes almost killed.”

Rhodey went stock still before suddenly pouncing like a viper, and not even Sam’s quick thinking reflexes could block the hand coming right for his head.

Rhodey’s hand connected with the back of Sam’s head with an audible SMACK!

“Fuck! RHODES-.”

“No. Absolutely not, Wilson. You listen to me right now.” Sam moved to speak, hands coming up defensively as Rhodey pointed an accusing finger at him. “I said LISTEN, Wilson. And stop being dramatic, I’m not going to beat you. Unless you don’t get this shit through your thick ass skull, then I might. So. I’m only going to say this once. Not- Your-Fault. All this-”

Rhodey waved around them. “All this crazy shit we’ve found ourselves in. None if it is your fault. Barnes knew what he was getting into when you two went on that mission, and the only person to blame is the one we’ve been chasing this whole time. Not Barnes and his half thought out plans. Not you and your self pity bullshit. Not me and War Machine.”

Rhodey poked Sam firmly in the chest, eyes searching his to emphasize the point. His voice lowered. “It’s Sharons, Sam. I’m serious. This whole night is not your fault. It’s not.”

Sam sniffed at the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. He gave Rhodey’s shoulder a gentle bump. “How come you insulted me and Barnes for the reason’s it wasn’t our fault, but for you it was just ‘Me and War Machine’?” Rhodey gave a tight grin, arm coming over Sam’s shoulders in comradery.

“Because, Wilson. I’m awesome.”

Sam let out a tearful laugh. “You’re such a narcissist.”

Rhodey tightened the arm around his shoulders, giving him a comforting squeeze. “Yeah,” he said absently, “Maybe. But I’m still right.” He gave Sam’s shoulder another gentle pat. “About everything I just said. Not just about me being awesome.”

“Of course.”

“But I mean, look at me.” Rhodey’s hand left Sam’s shoulder to motion towards himself, grinning slyly. “I AM pretty awesome, you gotta admit.”

Sam let out another bone weary sigh, closing his eyes. He could feel his lips twitching as they fought a smile threatening to break through. Rhodey always seemed to have a way with that, even when things seemed their darkest. He gave a dutiful nod in response. “You are pretty cool.” And he meant it. More than anything, he meant it. Rhodey wasn’t just a workplace acquaintance, not anymore. He was family. Not often you found that kind of shit anymore, not in their world.

“You know that’s right.” Rhodey reached from behind his back, pulling out a battered looking envelope. Sam felt his heart leap into his chest, eyes widening as he took in the tattered looking piece of paper.

“Is that what I think it is?” He murmured lowly, risking a quick glance around the hallway. It was still empty, except for a frail looking woman slowly making her way to the bathrooms.

Rhodey nodded, watching as the old woman disappeared from sight. “Sure is. Though,” he flipped it around, grimacing at the tacky paper. “Think it’s seen better days.”

Sam hummed in agreement, reaching an arm over to grasp at the envelope. “Yeah, never thought I’d be relating to a crappy piece of paper, but here we are.” He evaluated the weight of it in his hands, turning it over with painstaking care.

He couldn’t believe all the trouble they’d gone through for this seemingly harmless thing, just a few ounces in his hands. Probably not even that.

It seemed so…miniscule. So irrelevant. Funny how those things seemed to play out in the end, he mused. Never underestimate the little guy.

All the countless hours scouting escape routes, the stake outs, the literal blood, sweat and tears. Bucky almost dying, AGAIN-

Sam cleared his throat, finger tapping anxiously at the clasp. “Should we, you know. Open it?”

Rhodey gave a slow nod, eying the envelope with a weary glower. “Yeah, probably better to do it sooner than later, while that information is still fresh. Figure out what exactly Sharon is up to, and why the hell she had neurotoxins, among other things, in some dingy ass office in a party club in Madripoor.”

“Should we wait for Bucky before we open this?” Sam asked. Rhodey shook his head, reaching over to gently take the envelope from his hand. “He’s going to be out for a few more hours, if not days. Let’s take a gander and we can bring him up to speed on what we find.”

Rhodey grunted as he shuffled his way up the wall, groaning as he twisted his back in a terrifying angle. Another pop rang out, followed by a symphony of cracking. Sam raised a disturbed eyebrow, taking Rhodey’s hand as he was hoisted up to his feet.

“You doin alright, champ? Not gonna fall out on me, are you?” Sam mocked, squawking as he narrowly dodged a swing to the side of the head. Rhodey’s eyes narrowed, lifting the envelope in his hands as they walked towards Barnes’s side of the hospital. “I’ll be better when we put this whole ordeal behind us. And cut it out. I’ve got a bad back.”

Sam jogged to catch up, matching Rhodey stride for stride. He chewed at his bottom lip, feeling the slow pension of anxiety beginning to eat away at his insides.

They’d solve this. They always did.

As they turned down never ending hallways, past endless counts of doors, Sam just couldn’t shake the feeling that they were missing something. Something crucial, that was right in front of their noses.

He hated the sensation, the inability to control what was to come. Hated how his gut was churning bile, how every sense of his was on edge.

He felt like he was fraying at the seams. He felt…

Sam paused at the doorway Rhodes disappeared through, peering in at the still body laying in the bed before him. A body he’d never seen lay so quiet before. Not a twitch of the finger or the wicked gleam of a cunning eye, always accessing threats. Not even the rude and sometimes crude quips, always so readily on the tip of the tongue.

All that met them was the sound of slow breathing and the beeping of the monitor in the corner, the heaviness in the air palpable, hanging like a stale omen.

Sam took a steadying breath in, fighting back the sudden onslaught of tears threatening to spill yet again.

Jesus christ, he was feeling like…

He felt like…how Bucky must have always felt, except this time there was no Bucky to comfort him, to help him make sense of all this…SENSATION in his head. This doubt and worry and FEAR. It was almost too much. And seeing Bucky like this, seeing what he’d gone through, what he went through FOR Sam, to be so crippled and defeated…well, it just seemed to make that anxiety flare up even more.

But it’d all be alright, because Rhodey was on the case, and together, they’d wait out the storm, and Bucky would be fine. He’d be completely fine and back to stabbing him with his words, and sometimes his knives, in no time. They had time. They just had to-

They just had to wait. And Sam could do that. He waited over two years to find Bucky all those years ago, chasing dead ends and cold trails. He could wait a few hours. He’d wait however long he had too, because Bucky was…

Well, Bucky was his everything, and he’d do whatever he had to in order to ensure he recovered. It scared him almost, just how much he was willing to put on the line for the man. Taking a heavy seat beside the bed, Sam was brought down memory lane, the hazy figure of Steve Rodgers flashing through his mind.

It’d only taken him a decade,, but he was finally seeing why Steve had risked the entire World’s wrath to defend Bucky, come Hell or high water. He risked a glance over to Rhodes, who was beginning to hunch over the file of delicate information.

Sam cast one last glance at Bucky, still and pale on top of the crappy hospital sheets, dark hair almost black against his ashen complexion. Taking off his jacket, he carefully draped it over Bucky, internally making a vow.

No matter what it took, he was going to fix this. All of it. No more sitting back. No more assuming others weren’t what they appeared to be. Bucky had always been there for him, always so quick with a cunning smile and a helping hand. Now it was Sam’s turn, and his gut was telling him the answers were right there in their very grasp, in those pieces of paper just across the room.

“Rhodes, don’t hog all that now.” Sam straightened up, eyes forward and focused. “Hand some of that over, it’s time to get to work.”