Chapter 5
He tells you things sometimes, snippets of time that fall from his lips desperately. Like you're keeper of memories, and he wants to give them to you before they disappear.
You understand.
Sometimes the memory is whole, though it still looks like it takes him a great deal of effort to string it together. And even then he isn't sure if he's just talking about a dream.
Sometimes the memory is so muddled he can only describe it one sense at a time. Particles of dust floating in a beam of light. The scent of orange peel, bright and sweet. A splinter digging into his palm, or the salty breeze spraying on his sun-heated face. The sound of brass instruments and the stomping of shoes on wooden floors. Laughter, followed immediately by a cough.
Sometimes he just says “I remember something” and then his eyebrows draw together, and he doesn't say anything else.
The first time you wake him from a nightmare he looks at you with big wet eyes and draws back from you so suddenly that his head slams into the concrete wall. He doesn't even seem to notice. Instead he surges forward to grab you by the arms, face so twisted with emotion that fear creeps up your throat.
“Bucky-”
“Please” he begs, your heart slams into your ribs “three two five… five... please” his voice is a whine.
“Alright” you try to pitch your voice soft, it rasps with worry instead. “Alright Bucky, I got it. Three, two, five, five. It’s okay”
“No” he says, a sob “noooo, there’s more, there’s more I can't re- I can’t-“
He looks so different, so unlike the cold shell that you first encountered when they brought you here. Not for the first time, you wonder what they’ve done to him. Because you don’t remember how you got here, and every day the thought is like the twist of a knife at your side. You can’t imagine what it’s like for Bucky.
You look at him, at the bruises he’s leaving on your arms, and for the first time you worry for him more than you do for yourself. You don’t think about what awaits you, if they will make you become like him. The distraught twist of his expression chokes you like a physical thing.
“I’ll remember for you” it feels as though the force of your heart beat will crack your ribs “you can tell me the rest when you remember it” You can’t help the way your voice trembles when he loosens his grip, eyes growing wide and hopeful. “It’s alright Bucky, it’s okay” maybe it’s a lie, his breathing slows anyway. “Three, two, five, five, I’ll remember it for you.”
Bucky sags like his strings have been cut, and when you move to lean him against you he doesn’t even flinch.