Aftermath

Missiles flying over your Head,

Shots ring out in the Middle of the Night.

The Sergeant calls –

Stand up and Fight.

By the time they had given the full report and answered all questions, his head was swimming again. He was quite grateful that Steve had done most of the talking in the first place and that all he had to do was providing some information about his imprisonment. He actually couldn’t recall all the details since he’d been exhausted and drugged to the point where all his memories bled together like washed-out colours, but their superiors appeared to be fairly satisfied once he was dismissed from the meeting.

The full impact of the whole ordeal only hit him when he was finally alone in the makeshift showers. The water was freezing cold and almost knocked the breath from his lungs, but he still enjoyed the tingling sensation washing over his heated skin. It calmed the dull ache of the countless bruises blossoming on his skin, finally washing away the grease and grime of the trenches and the Work Camp. He only wished he could wash the memories down the drain as well. They kept clinging to his consciousness like gauze that had gotten stuck to a festering wound even though he’d tried to push them away countless times already.

Compared to dying in the battlefield, being taken hostage hadn’t seemed too bad in the beginning. Until they’d been held at Point-Blank-Range and forced to work on the weaponry that was supposed to take their comrades to an early grave. The heavy shackles on his wrists had drawn blood within a few hours of assembling rifles and soon enough his hands had been shaking with pain and exhaustion. The few hours of sleep they’d been allowed to catch and the limited rations of bland food had only been temporary relieves.

At some point, he’d caught himself staring into the middle distance and wishing for a quick death. But the subsequent thought of rotting away in some forgotten mass grave and never seeing his sisters and Steve again had send violent shivers down his spine. The least he owed them was putting up a fight even though fate might decide that he’d take his last breath while being enslaved by the enemy. A fierce smile had tugged at the corners of his lips when he’d picked his work up once more, ignoring the burning of his tired muscles and the fresh blood dripping down from his roughed up hands.

It had still only been a matter of days until exhaustion took over his body. They’d been assembling some sort of tank, heaving one of the gun barrels onto the base frame of the turret when the world had started spinning and his legs had stopped cooperating. He had crumbled to the floor and not even the heavy boot that made contact with his ribs had caused enough pain to get him back to his feet. Eventually they’d dragged him away without paying any heed to his weak struggles. He’d been sure they’d put him in front of the firing squad to end his misery. But instead they’d hauled him into another complex, strapped him onto a cold metal table and -

He pressed the heels of his shaking hands over his eyes, swallowing hard against the bile he could taste at the back of his throat. He’d survived all of the hardships and experiments. There wasn’t a point to freaking out now that he was back at Camp, hundreds of miles away from the horrors of the frontlines. They hadn’t achieved to break his spirit despite the pain they’d inflicted. They hadn’t killed him with the nasty drugs that’d been dripping into his veins and that had been setting his whole body on fire. He’d heal in time.

That was the delusion he held onto even though a small part of his mind already knew that the memories would remain wedged into his brain. Just like a Shrapnel that couldn’t be removed without causing fatal bleeding. He drew in a sharp breath before shutting the water off and grabbing one of the towels. His heartbeat calmed down and the bout of Nnausea dwindled until it was nothing more than an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach while he carefully dried off, lightly dabbing the open wounds and bruises to avoid aggravating them. Only his hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but he easily blamed that on the freezing shower and the lingering exhaustion while he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and laced his boots.

The clean Uniform he’d been given felt strange on his skin and he lightly tugged at the sleeves as if the movement could alleviate the sensation. When he’d put his first Uniform on after going through Boot Camp and earning the promotion to Sergeant, it had felt like the most glorious thing in the world. Now he felt stained even though he’d scrubbed his skin clean. As though the blood of his comrades and enemies never quite stopped drenching his clothes, staining his hands and making is rongue taste like steel.

He swallowed thickly once more and shook his head to shove those thoughts back into a dark corner of his mind. Then he stepped in front of the slightly tinged mirror. He couldn’t help but pause for a moment, warily watching the ghost that stared back at him with hollow eyes. The bruises along his cheekbone and jawline that had turned a sickly mixture of green and yellow by now still formed a harsh contrast to his otherwise pale dkin. He traced  their outlines with a fingertip and winced when the light rouch aggravated the dull throb that had comfortably settled behind his temples. Refraining from further examinations, he combed his fingers through his damp hair until it looked reasonable enough to pass military standards and deserted the makeshift bathroom.

Since they had yet to received further orders, Bucky wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to make of his time. He didn’t feel too keen on joining his Unit where they had settled in the grass around a campfire, enjoying the food that had been provided upon their sudden return. Even without eavesdropping on their conversation he could easily tell that he’d be bombarded with questions about the closed-off areas he’d seen when the enemy had dragged him down to the laboratories. Therefore, he decided that keeping his distance was probably for the best and ended up aimlessly wandering about the grounds. With the soft heat of the afternoon sun caressing his skin, he at least felt a little more alive and less imprisoned in his own mind.

Once the fatigue kicked in again and he could barely keep himself upright without stumbling over his own feet, he took a seat on some abandoned wooden boxes in front of one of the buildings scattered around Camp. Turning his face upwards and closing his Eyes, he hoped that the warmth would finally burn through the cold and heavy memories that had settled inside his chest.

He startled back into consciousness when someone placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, blinking several times until his surroundings came into focus. Only to meet the eyes of his grinning best friend who’d apparently been watching him for several minutes. “Of all places you choose a wooden box to take a nap, Buck?”, he teased and seemed quite pleased when Bucky regarded him with a glare. “Haven’t been napping”, he finally retorted with a firm shake of his head that send the world spinning for a few seconds. He brushed the disturbing feeling away, accounting it to fatigue and the nerves. “Just been resting my eyes.”

Steve only snorted in return, clapping him on the back once more. “Well, now that they are rested”, he started while Bucky’s sleep-deprived mind struggled to comprehend his words without getting lost in the smile lighting up his features. “You’ll join us for the celebrations?” Even though he hardly managed to deny Steve anything he requested, Bucky hesitated. He didn’t feel like celebrating. The whole ordeal just didn’t feel like a victory in the first place. “I don’t know…”, he answered slowly, examining his fingernails. Despite his attempts to clean them in the showers, there were still rimmed with dark lines.

“Come on, Buck”, Steve tried again. “They’ve granted us some extra rations of the good stuff. Food that’s not been dried and smashed beyond recognition.” He lightly nudged his knee while he continued talking as if his life depended on it. “We haven’t gotten around to celebrating our reunion and me joining the army, too. Aren’t those enough good reasons?” Bucky heaved a sigh and finally looked up again. “Alright, alright…”, he muttered. He couldn’t possibly resist those bright blue eyes nearly begging for his company to share a drink like in good old times. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve approved of your dumb decision to fight in this War.”

Steve beamed at him like a child that had received some candy and pulled him to his feet with ease once Bucky accepted his outstretched hand. The sudden movement didn’t quite help with the pain radiating from the wounds on his wrists and the dizziness that kept messing with his perception of the world, but he refrained from complaining and only bit the inside of his cheek until the aensations faded to a manageable level. Then he hurried to catch up with the blond who’d already started to head towards the mess and decided to make the best of the whole situation. Maybe he could at least drown the overwhelming memories and find some temporary relieve from the cold that kept clawing at his insides. Maybe a good drink would even stop the slight tremors that still wrecked his body.

His hopes were crushed when they stepped into the small building that looked more like a tavern from some Western Movie. The bustling of the place almost instantly gave him a headache. Smoke from cigarettes hung heavy in the air, mixing with the scent of heated bodies and spilled beers. He tried hard to refrain from thinking about the smoking gunpowder that had filled his lungs and restricted his breathing to the point of suffocating while he’d cowered in the trenches. His hands started shaking anyways and his breath got caught in his throat as if he was fearing for his life again.

He flinched when Steve clapped his back and went ahead to greet his pals. Bucky watched in a daze and decided it would be best if he got himself settled with something strong. Instead of following Steve he made his way to the counter and took a heavy seat on one of the chairs. Even though most of the soldiers had already claimed their rations and the drinks they’d been granted due to the special occasion, it felt like an eternity until his shaking hand closed around a chilled glass filled with honey-gold liquid. His heart kept hammering against his ribs and he almost spilled the drink when he downed the first long gulp.

The Whiskey burned worse than the memories of smoke in his throat, scorching him from the inside before a comfortable warmth spread from his stomach through his limbs and he allowed his shoulders to slump. He knew the relieve wouldn’t last and the memories would return with vengeance, but he still relinquished the feeling. With one less hurried swallow he allowed it to wash over his senses, numbing some of his emotions and steadying his heartbeat.

He even managed a small smile when Steve joined him again once the other soldiers had started singing wholeheartedly and completely out of tune. “Told you they’re all idiots”, he uttered into his glass without meaning much harm. They were still comrades even though the singing aggravated the throbbing behind his temples and he sure hoped someone would make them shut their mouths within the next five minutes.

“How about you?”, Steve asked and gave him an inquiring look. “You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?” Bucky didn’t quite like the way he stressed the syllables of his new alias and couldn’t help the sigh that escaped his lips before he answered. “Hell, no. That little guy from Brooklyn that was too dumb not to run away from a fight. I’m following him”, he stated, catching the blonds calm gaze for a short moment before turning back to his drink to drown the sudden onslaught of emotions. Steve didn’t comment and suddenly, the space between them felt heavy with unspoken truths.

“But you’re keeping the outfit, right?”, he tried to turn the conversation back around before he started thinking again. Maybe it was the Whiskey that had started talking. Steve only rolled his eyes and glanced at one of the numerous posters of himself. “You know what?” A grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “It’s kinda growing on me.” Bucky only snorted, but didn’t get to find an inappropriate response.

The singing died down for a few seconds when Peggy Carter entered the mess. Her red dress was a stark contrast to the simple Uniforms of the men seated around the tables. She barely paid any attention to them and headed straight for Steve who’d jumped to his feet by the time she reached them. Instinctively, Bucky had done the same since she probably outranked him just like Steve did.

She didn’t even spare him a glance when he uttered his greetings, her eyes never leaving Steve. Something unpleasant stirred inside of him when he turned towards the blond and found him transfixed as well. It wasn’t quite rage or jealously, but it felt like a close second to both emotions. He averted his gaze and tried to swallow it down. He even tried to join the conversation instead of listening to the vile comments a small voice inside his head whispered while he listened to them, but once more he didn’t catch her or Steve’s attention – and something wasn’t quite right about that.

“I’m invisible”, he stated still flabbergasted once Agent Carter had taken her leave. “I-I’m turning into you. This is a horrible dream.” He tried hard not to sound accusing since he didn’t quite begrudge Steve just because he caught someone’s attention for the first time in his life, but his voice cracked anyways. “Don’t take it too hard, Buck.” Steve didn’t seem to catch on and laughed it off, patting his shoulder once more. “Maybe she’s got a friend.” And with that, he headed off towards the cheering soldiers who’d watched the whole scene and would probably demand another pitcher of cold beer to keep their mouths shut about it.

Bucky gazed after him for a solid minute before he returned to his seat and flagged the bartender down to refill his glass. The lad was barely old enough to drink himself and probably had been unlucky enough to pull the short straw when the catering troop had decided who’d take care of the ess that night. In any other situation, Bucky might have offered a reassuring smile. But right now he was caught up in his own personal misery and only uttered a half-hearted thanks before he went back to staring at his drink. It stung that they’d forced him into the role of an innocent bystander when he’d easily made himself the center of attention in the past. Hell, it hurt even more that Steve had barely spared him a glance once that woman had entered the room. Just as though the War had messed with every single part of his life for the sole purpose of mocking him once he returned from the frontlines because heroics didn’t make a difference.

His throat felt tight and he barely managed to suck in a full breath, almost choking on the emotional turmoil that the change of their relationship had caused in addition to the aftermath of his encounters with the enemy. Technically, he knew that the alcohol wouldn’t exactly solve his problems and make him feel whole again. But he was willing to give it a shot anyways – and maybe some part of his consciousness simply longed for the numbness of a solid buzz before he passed out in his bed.

Of course, the Whiskey refused to fulfill his wishes. His consciousness started feeling fuzzy around the edges when he downed his third drink, but otherwise the alcohol just seemed to intensify his stupid emotions. They formed a tight knot in the pit of his stomach, almost reaching the the point of physical sickness. Then again he’d forgone the offered foods and downed the drinks without much restraint, which probably hadn’t been quite the wisest decision in matt-

The sound of shattering glass pierced through the babel of voices that filled the mess. Viscerally Bucky ducked his head, shielding it with his arms. He held his breath, waiting for the inevitable rain of bullets and splinters that always followed the explosion. Instead curses and laughter echoed through the raproom, but he barely heard them over his own heartbeat – and they didn’t disarm the cold panic surging through his veins. His breaths came in ragged gasps. Smoke and debris filled his lungs and he wasn’t quite sure if it originated from the cigarettes or if someone had actually thrown a grenade through one of the windows.

He scrambled to his feet and stumbled towards the entrance when the sounds became too much. He crashed into a solid form, almost losing his balance in the progress. He didn’t even attempt to apologize when he squeezed past the massive body and kept stumbling until the cold of the night surrounded him. It felt like the most blissful relieve on his overheated skin. At least for the mere seconds before his stomach lurched and he had to brace his hand against the wall on his left. He tried to breathe through the waves of nausea crashing down on his senses and crawling up his throat. He failed miserably.

A thin stream of Whiskey and acid dribbled past his lips and formed a puddle on the pavement. He squeezed is eyes shut when the next wave crashed right into him, threatening to pull him beneath the surface. It subdued the dizziness that blurred his vision, but the scorching memories remained. He smelled burned flesh and tasted steel, felt the needles prick his skin and the poison trickling into his vein. Heard someone’s broken sobs from the darkness of the cells and the terrified screams of his dying comrades.

And then there was a warm hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles into his tense muscles while he kept heaving up bile. He couldn’t quite make out the words, but the smooth voice was enough to ground him in this very moment. It soothed the turmoil and he almost wished he could dissolve in that voice. It seemed to be the only thing that kept the memories under control.

“You okay, Buck?”, it finally penetrated the haze disconnecting him from the world once the heaves died down and he managed to take a full breath again. He barely managed to shake his head, still not daring to open his eyes or move from his bend position even though his knees wobbled dangerously and he wasn’t quite sure how long he’d be able to maintain his balance.

“Alright, stupid Question”, Steve muttered and shifted his weight. “Let’s take this slow and easy, okay?”, he kept muttering while he grabbed his shoulders and guided him upwards until his back was straight. Bucky all but collapsed against his broad chest and the blond ended up wrapping an arm around his waist. “You with me?”, he inquired, turning him around until his head rested against one of his shoulders and he was somewhat shielded from curious eyes. Bucky noted the worry that laced his words now and lightly bit his lip.

“Yeah”, he finally croaked and blinked his eyes open, shame gnawing at his insides. This was one more thing that wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to take care of Steve, cradle him in his arms and keep him safe from the harsh world outside. Not the other way round. But he felt too miserable to give it more than a feeble thought, slowly sinking further into the warmth soaking through the Uniform’s Jacket. It didn’t quite stop the shivers from wrecking his body, but it soothed the pain a little.

“Don’t pass out on me now though, Buck”, Steve murmured and nudged his chin upwards. You know I can’t carry you Home. I’d have to drag you and that would ruin your reputation. He didn’t say those words now, he just tightened his hold and half-carried him back towards their accommodations since Bucky couldn’t quite get his feet to obey the orders from his mind without tangling them.