There are nights that Bucky can sleep, at least a little bit. And then there are nights like tonight where all he can do is stare at the wall and try to remember to breathe as the nightmares solidify and the memories become too real.
James Buchanan Barnes
Tonight is one he actually, blessedly, hasn't had to face before, but he's in it now, and he's trying to catch his breath as the smell of that camp starts to fill him. The stench of death and the constant echo of gunfire. The camp where Hydra had truly begun to create the Winter Soldier.
It's dark and cold and he's so, so tired as they steer him down the hallways to that fucking room. The room with that table where he'll lie back and stare into the lights for who knows how long and listen to the sounds of the camp while agents question him and he burns alive from the inside out.
Sergeant
He knows now, it was the serum. It was an imitation, so it hadn't hit properly. It burned and twisted inside him, boiling his blood and making him sicker than he had ever been. He remembers having had to swallow back bile and screaming in agony a few times when he thought he was alone in the room.
He'd had a fever when Steve came for him. Drenched in sweat, delirious, and repeating his ID numbers over and over. He wouldn't give them any information they couldn't get off his corpse, no matter how much he was hurting.
He swallows as he pulls himself from the memories, dragging himself back to the present.
32557038
He looks around as he begins to register his living room again and takes a few shaking breaths. This feels awful. He can't remember the last time the lines between reality and memories were so blurred he had to fight to remember what his own goddamn couch looked like.
He looks up at the television, seeing it's playing some late night talk show on mute. He couldn't care less about what's actually going on there. He just can't sleep in the dark. He needs some sort of light. Some way to trace the shadows. Some way of feeling like he's not about to be snuck up on by someone.
James Buchanan Barnes
He picks up his phone and looks at the time, swallowing again. His throat is so dry. Why is it so fucking dry? Is he starting to panic? Is that what this is? And it's three in the morning, so there's really no one he can call.
But he's aching and afraid and can't quite recognize the room around him. It still feels a little too off and he doesn't know what to do with himself, so he pulls up his texts with Sam and sends a quick one, just asking if Sam is down for getting coffee together when he wakes up. No earlier than six, he clarifies, despite what time it is now. He's not expecting a response.
Sergeant
He yawns and remembers how tired he'd been. They left him under those bright lights and didn't let him sleep. He'd started to lose himself. Started to think about things he didn't want to think about. He'd started to smell the blood in the room and started thinking about his squad members that had come in there before him.
None of them came back. Which led him to believe they probably died on the same table he had been strapped down on. Had the scientists pumped them full of versions of the serum that hadn't worked and killed them? Was he the only success? The only survivor? Had he been lying where his squad had died?
32557038
His phone goes off and it's Sam asking if he's okay and telling him maybe he should write down what's on his mind in the journal his new therapist has him writing in. He knows that's a good idea, except he's still sort of lost in the place that the memories are from. He can't write the memories down if he can't get out of them.
He needs to pull himself out, but he's still half drowning. He can still feel the straps on his arms and the table at his back. He can feel the lights and taste the sedatives. He's sluggish and tired and he can't fucking sleep and it's driving him mad.
James Buchanan Barnes
He tugs his hand through his hair and sighs, trying to shove it all away, fight his way out of it as his phone goes off again. He doesn't look at it this time. He's too deep. He keeps falling back into the memory. He keeps plunging back into the pain and sickness of that serum and those lights.
He feels himself shiver and he's not sure if that's him or if it's what he did in the memories. He had to have shivered a bit. It was cold on that table. He had a fever. He felt like he was dying.
Sergeant
He's not sure how long he's been stuck in his head, but he can distantly hear a knock at his door. He should probably go see who that is. But what if it's Hydra again? Maybe it's best if he stays put. He doesn't feel so great anyway. He needs a few minutes.
But then there are hands on his shoulders and he feels warmth suddenly. He blinks and looks to the source, seeing Sam in front of him. His best friend. The new Captain America. Bucky's Captain America now. And Sam is giving him a strange look.
32557-
"Bucky? You okay?"
Bucky looks up at Sam when he speaks and blinks quickly. He doesn't think he is? And he's pretty sure that much is reflected in his expression because the next thing he knows, Sam is wrapping him in a blanket and guiding him to the kitchen to sit nearby while Sam prepares some tea.
"Are you hurt at all?" Sam asks.
"Tired," Bucky whispers, shaking his head.
Sam nods. "No, that makes sense," he says quietly. "Let's get you some tea. Maybe some soup or broth."
Bucky nods, still fading. Still walking between the two worlds. It feels terrifying. He wants to be home, and only home.
"Time's'it?" he asks, voice unsteady.
"A little after four in the morning," Sam chuckles. "Don't worry about it."
But Bucky does. He's going to. Even as Sam settles some things in front of Bucky for tea, he's full of worry. Sam was supposed to get sleep, not be here taking care of him.
"I shouldn't have texted you," he grumbles.
Sam turns and looks at him. "I'm glad you did? When you didn't answer, I tried messaging you again and got worried, so I came out here. You seemed a bit distressed and I'm glad I came over. It took a good ten minutes to get you to snap out of it."
Bucky looks up, raising an eyebrow. "Teen minutes? What do you mean?"
Sam sighs softly and moves to Bucky, rubbing his hand through Bucky's hair. He finds himself leaning into the touch with a sigh.
"Buck, you were kind of lost, I think?" Sam says gently. "You just kept saying this string of numbers?"
"32557038," Bucky hums without thought.
"Yeah, that." Sam pulls his hand back. "Are you alright?"
Bucky sighs and swallows. He reaches up and pulls his dog tags from under his shirt, holding them up so Sam can see what it is. "We were trained to only give our captors information they'd get off our corpses. Name. Rank. ID numbers."
Sam frowns. "Yeah," he says softly. "One of those things you hope you never have to do."
"I did," Bucky murmurs. "Back in '43, before Hydra really got to me, they captured my squad. That's when I got the serum."
"I remember Steve told me about that," Sam whispers. "He said you… you weren't the same after that. Not quite Bucky."
"They tortured me," Bucky says quietly. "And killed my squad. Tied me down to the table my guys died on. The whole place reeked of death. I- I don't think I really left that camp after Steve saved me."
Sam hums and pulls a chair up next to Bucky, sitting in it and putting his hand on Bucky's arm. "You were back there tonight, huh? A flashback?"
Bucky nods softly. "I think so. Halfway? I- I feel like I was here, but there also?"
"You were kind of aware of both, you mean. Not fully lost in the flashback?"
"Yeah," Bucky sighs. "I was trying to get out. I knew I was here and I was trying to get out of the camp, but it was- I dunno."
Sam goes quiet for a moment. Then he hums and nods. "You messaged me, so you were aware enough for that. At least at first. Again, I'm glad for that. Because when I got here, you were not doing so well. You didn't answer me knocking. Had to use my key."
Bucky takes a slow breath and runs his hand down his face. "I'm fuckin' tired," he admits. "Can we skip the tea? Could you stay here for the rest of the night?"
Sam nods and stands up, holding a hand out to Bucky. "C'mon. Let's get you to bed." He helps Bucky to his feet and leads him along by the hand to his bedroom.
Bucky sinks onto the mattress without fuss, groaning as Sam pulls the blanket up over him. He looks up at the other man, who smiles softly and moves around to the other side of the bed. Kicking off his shoes, Sam slides in with him and pulls Bucky into his arms. He hadn't even had to ask.
Bucky sighs softly and curls up against Sam's chest. Despite the shaky terror still slightly pulling at his limbs and the drag of memories trying to pull him back to the camp, Sam's arms are warm and Bucky hasn't felt this safe in years. He doesn't even notice how easily he falls asleep.
And when he wakes up later, Sam is still wrapped around him, his lips pressed to Bucky's temple, and Bucky can only barely remember the sweat-soaked cold he felt hours ago or the shaky, near sick-inducing headache. And finally, he feels like he's fully in this time and place. The memories are now just that, distant and fading for now.
He closes his eyes again and settles fully against Sam, falling asleep one more time.