So march with me if you believe there's any hope for us.
I've been hiding in these trenches for far too long.
All is fair in war or so they tell me
All is fair in war or so they say
Come on, come on, there has to be a better way.
Get up, get up, let's leave this mess.
I know a place that we can get away from all of this.
Come on come on, get up, get up
I've been dreaming of us leaving everything and everyone we've ever known.
I've been thinking all these visions must be a sign, so hold on and don't let go.
Austria, halfway between Kitzbuhel and Klagenfurt
Hydra Weapons Facility
The night comes and Bucky welcomes it.
He feels more at peace at night for some reason. Everyone is resting and there is no noise except for the groans coming out of the men around him, their pain not letting them rest, even in sleep. He's sure in a few days those men will be gone as well, just like the others before them.
There's a certain comfort at night, besides the fact his captors are asleep. Weird things happen at night to everyone, not just someone suffering from pneumonia and round the clock experimenting.
So he doesn’t panic or even close his eyes when Steve comes to him. He lets his mind pretend it’s real. At least for a little while.
Steve with his head that seemed too big for his body, his oversized clothes draping over him. Despite his height and his ailments (in particular his scoliosis spine) he stands tall, his hair golden and shiny.
The moonlight illuminates the room in front of Bucky causing the vision of the man in front of him to be almost angelic and Bucky lets his name escape his mouth.
“S-Steve…?” He says breathlessly.
Steve puts his index finger to his lips, quieting Bucky. He comes over to Bucky, removing his finger and letting his mouth smile , and Bucky has to stop himself from smiling, has to tell himself Steve isn’t really here.
But he missed that smile so much. It always calmed Bucky down. It was a thing he always found joy in. It was the last thing he saw before going to sleep, and first thing to wake up to for so long. But now it pained him to see it knowing that Steve wasn’t actually there.
“You’re not real.” He whispers to the apparition.
“It’s okay, Buck.” It says back coming over to his bed. Bucky moves back in fear. He’s not real he’s not real.
Steve holds his hand to calm Bucky. “It’s okay.” His voice is calm, relaxed, like how Bucky was with him so many times when Steve got upset over various things ranging from his illnesses to just the way things were around him. Right now it's Steve's voice soothing Bucky and he lays back in the bed, closing his eyes for a brief moment.
Bucky opens his eyes again and Steve is moving to the slap of cushion they called a mattress that they moved Bucky to, usually when they were resetting the machine for the next round of tests and he was too weak to run away. He's too weak now. Maybe that's why they left him here the past few nights. Bucky ignores how the mattress doesn’t seem to dip even slightly when Steve crawls on top. He ignores how he can’t feel the extra weight beside him.
Steve's body turns towards Bucky and Bucky allows himself to seek comfort in him, whether really there or not.
“Come on, Buck,” Steve says, grinning from ear to ear. “Let’s tell the old stories.”
And Bucky smiles too, for the first time in what seems like forever. “Okay,” he says, pushing back the tears filling his eyes.
And he starts talking, talking about their fathers, about playing as kids, about kissing under the Cherry Tree when there was no one in sight. Steve adds to the stories too, but it’s nothing Bucky never knew.
Bucky falls asleep curled around his lover, peaceful for once.
He wakes hours later, the sunlight coming through the minuscule slits in the hallway of Buckys room letting him know morning came once again.
He notices his bed bare and without Steve. He moves his hand over to feel it, a small part of him hoping it’ll be warm as it would if someone laid there. But he pulls his hand away when he feels the spot is as cool as the chilly air that surrounds him and he has to remind himself that Steve wasn’t there, Steve was never there. He curls his body to his side, facing where Steve should’ve been, and wraps his arms around himself. He lets his sobs escape his chapped lips, racking his body in grief stricken agony for the man he loved, and the man he left behind.
He is almost upset when his fever breaks and his illness subsides a few days later and only being able to hold on to the images of Steve that sleep deprivation gave him. Not as detailed, not as long.
A week later Steve saves him. This time taller, bigger, real.