"Better me than you." Bucky's haunting words echo inside his head as he stares helplessly at his friend being mercilessly beaten by around ten goons, each wearing brass knuckles. It is the third time in as many days that they've come to beat the living shit out of Bucky. Sam offered to trade before Bucky went unconscious the first time, only to fall on deaf ears. Even Bucky, bleeding and shaking in pain, scolded him, telling him he was stupid and to shut the hell up. "Better me than you." Those famous words.
Sam decided against blocking the dreadful sound of metal pounding against flesh and bone; he just couldn't let Bucky endure all the pain alone. Sam repeatedly strikes the glass wall separating him and Bucky, screaming in frustration. He loathes himself for failing the two most important people in his life: Riley and now Bucky.
"Stop it, stop hurting him, please," Sam begs after some time, completely drained, his fists a bloody mess.
The men eventually stop, but only after the floor becomes a sea of crimson and their boots drenched with Bucky's blood. One of them brutally yanks Bucky's hair, forcing him to kneel. Sam watches in horror at the sight of his friend's face - his eyes are shut and swollen, gashes and bruises all over, blood flowing from his nose and mouth. He winces in pain as he dazedly tries to dislodge the man's grip. The man then releases his hold and kicks Bucky squarely in the jaw, which sends him sprawling bonelessly on the blood-soaked floor.
"No! Bucky!" Sam whimpers.
Sam doesn't even notice the men exit the room as his eyes are transfixed on his partner, searching for any sign that he's still alive. He then closes his eyes, somewhat comforted by the rise and fall of Bucky's chest.
"Please, Torres, be here soon," Sam prayed, hoping that Torres had received the distress signal a while back.
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Bucky violently coughs as he wakes, blood spewing from his mouth. He tries to move, but his body doesn't cooperate. Everything hurts, and he's cold. He couldn't see. He doesn't know anything.
"Buck?" Someone calls from a distance. He couldn't place the owner of the voice right away, but he felt like he knew him. He wetly coughs once more.
"Oh my God, are you okay?" The man's voice is strained and hoarse like he had been screaming or crying for some time. He thinks that he should respond.
Bucky, however, only manages a weak groan, pain clouding his mind. He tries hard to recall who the man is and what happened but comes up empty. He's just so tired.
"I am so sorry, Buck. I wasn't able to do anything." The man is sobbing now. Bucky frowns but resolves that what the man says is far from the truth. Who is he? Did he cause this? No, I don't think so. Can't breathe too well. Why do I care about him? He's my friend, isn't he? My head hurts. Are we in danger? We need to get out of here. I think my jaw is broken. Why did I say "we"? Bucky's mind is swimming in confusion, unable to piece anything that could help him know.
"N-not your fault," Bucky finally says after much deliberation. He accepts his earlier assumption that the man is his friend or something more, judging from his concerned tone and Bucky's initial feelings towards him. He figures he must have had a concussion, hence the disconcertion.
"Just hold on, Buck. I know Torres has picked up my SOS, and I'm sure he's on his way to rescue us," The man says with conviction, and he believes him. They will sort this out. Something clicks in Bucky's fractured mind.
"S-sam?" he asks hesitantly.
"Yeah?" Sam replies. Bucky feels relieved even though the only things he recalls are their names.
"I must have hit my head; I don't remember what happened. B-but it'll come back, I'm sure," he explains apologetically, hoping Sam could fill in the blanks inside his head.
"Oh, Buck," Sam responds sympathetically, unsure what to say next.
"Don't worry, man, you don't have to remember anything now. You should rest and get better," Sam adds. Bucky smiles as he hears the kindness and concern in Sam's voice.
"Hmmm, okay," Bucky answers, his eyes already heavy anyway.
Sam, Bucky soon finds out, is a man of his word. He vaguely remembers what transpired, but he heard shots fired, footsteps scrambling, and men shouting. He recalls being lifted, the plane taking off, and eventually landing. Voices. He also recalls hearing an ambulance's siren and people prodding him. More voices. Best of all, he remembers Sam's hand holding his, rarely ever letting go.
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