I'm Here | ✓

10 - Nightmare

"No, no, no, let him go, let him go!" I screamed. Blood poured out of my mouth and my arms were twisted behind me, nearly ripped from their sockets, but I still tried to fight.

"He will suffer the same fate as you, Soldat." A disembodied voice hissed. "He'll be a great fighter. Maybe even better than you." I screamed again.

"I'll kill you all! Let him go!" A hand curled around my neck, and I choked. My yelling came out more like a gargle, just whispered, pained pleas for his release as I struggled for air.

They shoved him backward in the chair. Even in the darkness, I could already see he was crying. He was trying to be strong as he stared at me, but I was helpless. We knew this was the end of the line. They strapped down his arms and legs, and he strained against them. He was small and weak; it did nothing. It made me sick. I cried for him again, and someone kicked me in the ribs, slamming me to the concrete floor.

I was forced to watch as they pushed his head back in the chair, his dirtied blond hair falling into his eyes. They pulled the metal pieces over his head, preventing him from moving, and he whimpered in fear.

"Buck?"

The next second, the machines hummed to life. Electricity shot through him and he screamed, arching his back and flailing in his bonds but it did nothing, and I tried to pull away, to get to him, to let him go, but I couldn't do anything except scream with him, my Steve, my innocent Steve, tortured and abused and just like me, because I couldn't save him, I lost him again, it should've been me, it should've been me, why couldn't they do it to me -

Where am I?

It takes me a few seconds to reorient myself this time. I'm in a cold sweat, breathing hard. That can't be a real memory. I practice the anger management techniques I learned from some ex-college-professor on the streets in Guatemala. Breathe in, slow, breathe out. I can't shake the image of Steve, before he got the serum, shrieking in the chair. I've had that one before, but it never gets easier to watch. In and out, I tell myself. Just breathe.

Someone else is here. I stop breathing, I tense up. I listen.

They're not particularly quiet. They're trying to be, but they step wrong and the floors creak somewhere else in the house. I grab the knife I've balanced on the edge of the bed and sneak it under the covers, out of sight.

Pause.

A shadow appears in the doorway.

Another pause. They don't move, and I breathe slow.

I use my left hand and in one smooth motion, I throw the knife as hard as I can. It's perfect, precise, fast.

It clangs off something as the figure flinches violently, and I leap out of bed to grab the other knife I've stored in the top drawer of the bedside table.

"Bucky! Stop!"

I freeze and I drop the knife.

"You broke into my house." I whisper.

He steps forward and flicks on the lights. My eyes take a second to adjust, but he's here. Steve's here. Safe. He props a shield up against the wall. I shake off the images from the dream.

He squints, and I know he's looking at the tears on my face. "Are you okay?"

"You broke. Into. My house."

"You look like you've been crying."

"Steve, you can't just keep adding crimes to your already impressively long list - "

"Okay. Okay. I'm sorry. Is that what you want to hear?" He stared at me for a few seconds before realizing I'm not going to answer. Quieter, he tries to plead with me. "Tell me what's wrong, Buck."

I wave him off. "Nightmare. That's all."

"I've never seen you this... worked up. Do you want to talk?"

I rub the sleep from my eyes. "What time is it?"

He glances at his watch. "Just past three."

"Fine. I'll tell you, but only if you tell me why you're here first."

He puts a hand on my back and guides me to the bed. I don't protest, and he sits next to me. "The reporters, they were asking me questions about why I was seen with you at the hospital. I said it was because you were my friend. They asked me where you are now. I couldn't tell them the truth, obviously, so I told them I hired a private police force to arrest you. As far as anyone knows, you're in prison. It's plausible, anyway. Just threw them a bone so they'll get off my back. And then I started thinking about it more. I did kind of abandon you here, and you can't leave. It sounds stupid now that I say it out loud, but I felt guilty for keeping you here, I guess."

"I'm touched, I really am, but I'm fine."

He looks at me. "Your turn. Why were you crying when I walked in here?"

"Night terrors. I told you."

"Of what?"

I took a few deep breaths, thinking of what I had seen in that dream. "Of you, Steve. Before the serum. Hydra had gotten you, somehow, and the chair they put me in when they wiped me, they did the same to you." His screams echoed in my mind. "It was horrible, and there was nothing I could do. It was torture to watch, worse than having it done."

You said too much.

"But I'm fine now." I reassured him quickly. "Just a dream." He looked concerned, and for a few moments, it was silent. "Listen, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you at all - "

"No, I'm glad you did. It's just that you don't talk to me about what happened to you. Not that you should," he rushed to say.

"It's fine. It's just one of my worst fears, I guess." Oops. That slipped.

"Really?"

Too late now. "...yeah. The chair... it was really painful. You saw it in Siberia, but they'd put those metal pieces over your face, and it used some kind of electrocution technique to wipe me before every mission as a precautionary measure." I shuddered, thinking of how much it hurt. It burned. I burned. "You couldn't take it, not now, but certainly not before the serum, before all of this. It's not enough to kill you, but plenty to make you wish you were dead. I've had the dream for a while. The fear never really goes away, I guess."

Steve stared at me.

This is it. This is him, recognizing this shell of who I used to be, realizing that I'm not Bucky, I'm someone new, a husk, broken and scarred and unworthy -

He leans forward and wraps his arms around me.

It's just like at the hospital, except there's no one filming, no one watching, just me and him in this moment.

This is Steve, safe.

This is home.

"Shit, Steve, I was scared. That's all I remember from the beginning. Fear." I started to get choked up again, tears welling in my eyes. "They told me they were gonna kill you. Have me kill you. And if I had?"

"You didn't." Steve, still hugging me tight, pushed me down gently. My head laid softly on the pillow and he rolled next to me. I moved over a bit so he wouldn't fall off the bed.

The roles reversed. He pushed my hair out of my face, sweeping it behind my ears. He dabbed at my cheeks with the corner of the blanket. Most importantly, he kept his arms around me until my breathing was back to normal and I stopped shuddering.

He curled up next to me as my breathing slowed. Thoughts of torture and Hydra seeped out of my head, until it was just me and Steve, Steve and me, here, now, today.