Oxygen Mask
It was dark, and everything felt...fuzzy. His nose and mouth felt dry. There’s a vague awareness that he is lying down. It’s soft. Something pressing into his face.
Dread pools, and he begins to feel sick. He’s wearing the mask. He must be. What else could it be. He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want to be here.
Please don't make me. Please don’t hurt me.
He clenches his fists, trying to ground himself. Pain shoots up his arm, and he gasps, eyes shooting open, as he tries to push himself up. But they must have removed his metal arm, because it’s not there, to help push himself up. He brings his hand up to scabble at the mask, only to hit himself in the face with whatever they have encased his hand in. He manages to knock the hated thing off his face, ignoring the additional aches in his hand it causes
People come in to push at him. He doesn’t know them. He’s scared and doesn’t want to be here. Recovery rooms mean experiments. And although they might be over, he doesn’t want them to poke at him, checking for the results.
He’s managed to push himself half up, despite the hands. He’s gasping, but uses his elbow on anyone he can reach.
A hand grabs him (gently something in the back of his mind realizes) by the nape of the neck. They’re on his left side. It makes it harder to hit them, but it doesn’t stop him from trying.
They grab his arm, holding it tight, yet not causing additional pain, like he would have expected. It’s enough to make him look up at them.
It’s a blond man. His eyes are shining and blue, but concerned. The man. Is familiar. And that alone gives him pause.
He stares into those eyes, so familiar, it takes him a moment to realize that the man is talking to him. Softly, gently. He can’t quite grasp the words, over the rushing in his head. But the man is comforting. He doesn’t fight when the man takes his trapped hand and places it against the man’s chest. He doesn’t try to take advantage.
Eventually, the rushing goes down, and he can hear the man’s quiet words.
“Bucky, you’re safe. It’s gonna be okay. Just breathe with me, pal, huh? Just like we used to. In and out, you’re doing so well. You’re safe here, Buck, it’s alright.”
“What..why..” He tries to ask, words barely making it past his lips.
Keeping hold of his hand, the man uses his other hand to brush the hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ear.
“It’s alright. You’re gonna be okay. Can you lay back down for me?” The man asks.
He allows himself to be lowered into laying down. He makes a noise when the man lays his arm across his chest.
The man frowns, and takes his hand again. He gives a pleased noise, only to frown and protest again when the man lays his hand by his side, letting it go.
“Steve,” he rasps. Then blinks. Because of course that’s the man’s name. How could he have forgotten? “Steve.” He says again.
“I’m right here, Buck,” Steve says gently. Steve picks up the thing laying on his chest, the thing that was pressing over his face earlier, and tries to put it back.
He turns his face away, quivering, and waves his arm at Steve.
“It’s just oxygen, Buck. Promise. You need it for just a while longer. It won’t hurt.” Steve says, still in that gentle tone.
He refuses again.
“Here, I’ll show you.”
Steve lifts Bucky’s head, pulling a cord over it, taking the thing with him. He holds it over his own face for a couple of deep breaths, before holding it back out.
“See it’s safe. I promise. No one’s gonna hurt you.”
Bucky searches his face for any ill effects, any proof that he’s lying. But finds nothing. He allows Steve to put the mask over his face, trembling, but submitting. Steve murmurs more assurances. Mask replaced, Steve sits in a chair that Bucky hadn’t noticed before, and places his hand on Bucky’s knee.
Bucky leans back into his pillows, and allows himself to fall asleep again.