Kreischberg
They had left him here alone for what felt like only minutes, but for some reason... they left him to rest. It was a trick, though, he was never allowed to sleep. Every time he tried he'd be jarred awake by some painful measure. He couldn't understand what they were saying when they weren't talking their mantra. He really needed to brush up on his German more than he had. The coats had tried doing something different, but between the physical exhaustion and lack of sleep, he had a hard time fighting them off. Even if he tried, the pain kept him conscious. Exhaustion was too strong for him to be able to do anything... or really think after all the stimulus overload they'd been doing to him. His brain hurt. James drifted during the quiet, trying to remind himself of facts. His own facts, not theirs. It was getting harder the longer his body stayed still. He could feel his head lull to the side and he decided it was stronger if he tried to croak it out. So Bucky murmured under his breath.
“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the107th regiment… 325557038... Brooklyn, N.Y. ….” He repeated under his breath, repeating again and again… That’s who he was… James Buchanan Barnes... not what this freak german scientist kept repeating and repeating and repeating… hydra wanted… no, that didn't matter… he couldn't even let himself think about it while they said it, or after. Only repeat his facts. Sergeant James…
His eyes trained on a point across the room, and he continued to mutter hours after the latest experiment. His body felt drained from whatever they’d injected him with. Same as before, try and look past them and repeat what his facts. But the light was gone, the one that swayed back and forth, back and forth, in jerky movements. It was gone, like the scientist was. He could hardly breath, but he still kept at it, his voice grew weaker and weaker until he was thinking the mantra more than saying…
“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes… of the 107… 32..557…” he continued, his voice growing hoarse. His eyes had slid closed without him realizing it. He was... so tired... so, very tired. All he wanted was to rest... 'compliance will be rewarded'... his heart beat faster.
No. He'd never listen to that, he'd never give into these Hydra, or Nazi's, whatever they were. He couldn't rest. James just couldn't because he was James Barnes... his mother's little Jimmy. His annoying sisters' Rebecca's confidant. His Father's boy, soldiering on for the girls. He was Bucky, Steve's friend and protector... God knew he needed one. Someone to stop him from his stupid escapades. He was all that. He couldn't give up, couldn't give in. James wouldn't let them make him something else... he had to get back home to be all these things, for all of them. Dad was dead, who was going to make sure Rebecca and the girls were okay during boarding school breaks? Aunt Ida meant well, but, she couldn't protect them, couldn't understand them like James did. Who was going to keep Steve out of fights he wasn't going to win? He didn't listen to anyone, he needed someone to give him hell to keep his reckless ass breathing.
So he couldn't let anyone make him anything else. He wouldn't die, either... James didn't want to die. He wasn't ready to. He just wasn't sure how long he could keep going. What was the other option? He couldn't escape, they were so far deep in enemy lines, their countries didn't care that they were here... they were all collateral. He may not have options, but James knew he wouldn't give in and he wouldn't let them kill him like the others. That just left him to get through to the next minute. He couldn't find a solution, because the clear thoughts dispersed sooner or later. He mumbled along his words, to draw strength from them when his mind grew weaker. To remind him of all that.
A voice drew him out of his mantra and he forced his eyes open.
He stared above him, and resigned himself to more of it… more of the bright lights and the shouting. The prodding and the needles… the creaking of the light... the cold metal under him… he couldn’t really feel his body just now but he knew it had been cold. His mind drug behind him sluggishly from being forced to stay awake for who knew how long.
He was almost able to feel them pulling at the restraints he’d long since forgotten were there. The ones that had rubbed his wrists raw back when he tried pulling them loose for hours. He knew now it didn't work. One if the bastards shook him hard near his chest and his head lolled to the side again. It jarred him a little further from the fogginess. He blinked once… this wasn’t the same... there was no light first of all, and it wasn't how they did things.
“Who… who's there…?” He slurred, finding words hard to find, and he focused in on a helmet… blue… he could almost see blue in the dark light from the moon shining into the room. It was dark, though. Was he being moved? What where they going to try now?
“It’s me…” James looked harder at the face in the dim. “It’s Steve.”
His mind stuttered. “Steve,”He said, a smile pulled at the muscles on his face oddly and he felt a wash of homesickness over him. Of the little punk back at home, waiting for him to get back from the war. Steve, who wanted to come galavant in this hellhole so God damn much… his thick headed friend who was probably still picking fights in back alleys and stuffing his shoes to pass stupid tests… if it really were Steve, that would mean he was back home already. The war would be over, he’d have survived it somehow… and he’d be back home with Steve... that would be nice. He wouldn't have to fight them off anymore. Wouldn't have to fight at all...
“Come on.”
The voice pulled his mind back, away from the fond memories of home, of his friend. He looked up and felt he was imagining it. Wait, hadn't he just been speaking? The person above him had shifted and the light was illuminating him. “Steve?” He muttered, letting out an amused breath. Steve couldn’t be here… but as he looked at him and he got hauled up off the metal table he could swear he did see Steve’s stupid face in front of him. That wasn’t possible… he didn’t know exactly where they’d been taken, but they were in Europe… Steve was home. Far from all this.
He felt disoriented as his body moved and he could feel the stiffness in his bones. Steve hadn’t left from above him. His friend's face hadn’t turned into something else, just an exhaustion induced illusion. Instead his friend clapped him on the cheek and James blinked again wildly. His brain finally seemed to register that Steve was in front of him and they were still in the isolation ward. Steve…? What the fuck…? Had James cracked? Did the torture crack him? Had he lost? This wasn't possible...
“I thought you were dead,” His friend breathed out worriedly, but he couldn’t really take in the words. He looked at Steve, trying to tell if his mind was tricking him again, taking him somewhere else besides the pain of the experiments. Maybe it was happening now and he was finally failing to keep ahead of the scientist's tricks. It didn’t seem right, it wasn't real. Little detail were wrong... even sitting, why was Steve so tall? He used to have to set his arm on his friend's shoulders. His shoulders were so broad and yeah, it didn’t really work, did it? It wasn't real... but he could hear his voice. It was the same voice.
“I thought you were smaller,” He mumbled back, a little confused at the whole scenario going on. He could hardly keep himself awake, much less figure this out. He stared and stared at him, balancing his arm on his friend’s and he practically begged God, to please not let this one be fake. That his friend was somehow here, rescuing him from this place. That Steve had lied his way into the army and somehow ended up with a group here to save them all from this place… just so he could get out. So it could all end. So he could rest. James was too stubborn to die and he'd never submit... but he was so fucking bone tired.
“Come on,” Steve said, and it was Steve, he realized. He helped Bucky adjust his grip... and as he hauled him to his feet… Bucky was starting to realize this couldn't be fake. This wasn’t his imagination. Steve was here… and he was helping him stand up. Bucky couldn’t feel his legs, and his knees buckled as soon as they stood.
Steve lifted him… Steve lifted him… Steve Rogers was carrying him, and huffing a ‘here goes’ as he pulled James' deadweight. Maybe this wasn't real? He tried to pick up his tangled feet to make them work, but his legs felt numb, like they were rolling waves rather than muscle. He could barely stand on his own… dammit, how tall was Steve suddenly? Could this be real?
It would have to be one really realistic dream. He stumbled over the step and glanced back up… no this was real. If it was a dream, or a hallucination he wouldn't be in these dark halls. He wouldn't be walking past the offices of the bastards who'd been torturing him. He'd be at home. Besides, James could hear the gunshots now. He could feel Steve holding up his weight and he could feel the pain arching across his shoulders and in his chest. This was definitely real. Which meant... well, that Steve was real. How was that physically possible, though?
“Wh-What happened to you?” He pushed the words from his throat.
“I joined the army!” Was Steve’s doofy reply and Bucky knew this was his friend, alright. Even he couldn’t dream up that sort of dumbass answer. No one else could be so light hearted in the middle of this place either. It took another hallway, but he could finally feel his feet some. James wrapped an arm around his injured side as he struggled to stay up on his feet and not weigh Steve down. Him... him not weigh Steve down, what had happened exactly? He looked up towards Steve, and his head spun for another reason than usual.
They continued down the hallway and he continued his questions….