A/N: So, two things. 1) This story and 'Aftermath' were both envisioned at pretty much the same time, and seem to nice bookend with each other (at least in my opinion), so they feel like companion pieces, but weren't really meant to be that way. 2) Unintended thanks/inspiration to Axl Rose, because I could not think of a title I liked to save my life; the solution turned out to be an unexpectedly honest statement that happened to fit the story. Yay art. Also, I now have Sweet Child 'O Mine stuck in my head...
Steve stumbled for the bunker door, his own hurts beginning to weigh on him the longer he supported Bucky. Ahead, beyond the stark brightness compared to the gloom of the wreckage around them, a grey shape stood out between the snow and the horizon. Except something didn't look right…
"Rest here a minute," he said quietly, leading Bucky to one side of the door. Steve took a couple steps out. Smoke twisted out from one of the engines of their escape plane. "No!"
Two shots ricocheted very close to his head from further inside the bunker. The glare from the snow made it impossible for Steve to see who it was. He glanced around; the outside of the doors would provide cover, but he had to get Bucky first. This time he had no shield.
"The super soldier legacy ends now!" a cold voice echoed. "We will tear your pitiful companions apart one by one, once we drop your body at their doorstep. How devastated they will be to discover that you dealt the fatal blow to your iron friend, only to be betrayed by the very person you were trying to save. They will hunt him down like a dog in their grief!"
Outside, the sputtering sound of semi-functioning jet propulsion caught Steve's attention, though he didn't see it for himself. "I think you're a bit late on part one of that plan." He ducked a third shot, halfway between the door and his friend. Absolutely no cover. He saw the fourth muzzle flash—but instead of feeling pain, there was a thwap and a grunt mere feet in front of him. Bucky hung suspended in time for a moment, remaining arm half-outstretched, an expression of shock and yet peace on his face. Then he started to drop to his knees.
"Nooo!" Steve barely registered the sounds of hand-to-hand combat in the shadows. A couple more shots rang out, nowhere near close to them. He didn't care. His attention was riveted on catching his friend. Blood already coated the back of Bucky's jacket, his eyes staring wide toward the ceiling. Steve tried to put pressure on the gunshot wound, which made Bucky wince. "Hang in there, I got you. Don't give up on me now!"
Bucky shuddered and gasped for each painful breath. "Maybe…it's better this way…"
"No no no, don't talk like that!"
"You cannot stay here," warned an accented voice. Steve's head snapped up to see the panther figure approaching. No other sounds came from the darkness. The warrior held up his hands. "I am not here to harm you, now that I know the truth. My plane is not far. I can get you both to safety, and medical attention. It seems someone wanted to make sure you never left alive."
Steve swallowed hard. "We can't go back to the Avengers, not like this…"
"I have a facility where no one would be able to reach you. If you permit me, I will take you there."
He looked back down at Bucky, whom he cradled, ruined stump of a left arm gleaming dully, eyes drifting in and out of focus. His upper hand clenched his friend's jacket front."
"Okay," he consented. "You listen to me, Bucky. I will make sure you get through this."
Bucky felt very strange. His sleep was punctuated as usual by horrific memories of his missions, many distorted to various degrees by his conditioning. But he remembered more this time. He was not simply an asset, a killing machine to carry out someone's bidding. He was Bucky Barnes, and—somehow—he still had at least one friend in the world.
Steve. The man from the bridge. The soldier out of time, the impossibly loyal shrimp-turned-juggernaut who never turned from a fight, and never gave up when he set his mind to something. Bucky never blamed his friend for their very different paths to this point. It was a war back then, one for which Bucky was willing to lay down his life. Steve wouldn't have been able to stop what happened. Neither of them could have known Zola's early torture would help Bucky survive such an obviously fatal fall. Bucky still didn't quite believe it.
The dream shifted. His memories blurred through the more recent years. Steve fearlessly going up against him, yet also fighting alongside him. The chaotic showdown in the airport, and even more brutal fight after being made to face one of his past demons. By rights, it should have just ended there. Their near escape. Steve's face, shocked and hurt as fire ripped through Bucky's back. Had he failed after all? Was his only friend in this nightmarish world dead or dying in spite of his last attempt to save him?
The images faded, but his awareness in the dark didn't. In fact, it sharpened. The burning in his back continued, though somewhat dulled, and he slowly picked up on other details. A tight band around his torso, right over the burning sensation. Multiple objects attached to his right hand and arm. Something cool and thin wrapped across his face. A steady beep also to his right, and the whirring of other machinery. The soft, even rhythm of breathing that was not his own.
Bucky pried open his eyes. Windows and sterile white walls shone with morning light, almost too bright. Was it just his imagination, or did he see tropical jungle through the blinding sun? On his other side, Steve slumped in a chair, asleep. Parts of his face were shiny black-and-blue (typical Rodgers), and a couple bandages peeked out from under a clean, unfairly tight t-shirt.
He tried to shift, get a better look, but quickly met resistance. A heavy strap held his right arm in place, soft leather, yet reinforced with something else, something familiar. Similar restraints hidden by the blanket crossed his upper chest, just above his knees, and at his ankles. He realized his left arm was mostly gone (so that really did happen), now capped at the end of the stump to protect the hardware inside.
Bucky couldn't stop the panic. Where was he? What did Steve have to do with this? What were they going to do to him now? The slightest move shot pain through his battered body, strangling his voice to a weak groan as his heartrate skyrocketed.
Steve twitched into wakefulness, and was instantly on his feet when he registered the source of the disturbance.
"Bucky! Buck, listen to me, you're safe, we're both safe! The restraints are just a precaution for everyone's sake, including yours. We didn't know what state of mind you'd be in when you woke up. If you fight it too much you could make your injuries worse. Trust me, here!"
The words slowly sunk in. Steve had one hand on Bucky's hospital-gowned chest, the other on his metal shoulder. Bucky tried to calm down, but his memories of conditioning were too vivid.
"Look at me, Buck. Just look at me," coaxed Steve. His blue eyes, rimmed with dark, tired circles, pleaded in a way Bucky hadn't thought possible. The plea of someone desperate not to lose something they cared about…and of someone who had been through a similar experience. "Nothing bad is going to happen to you."
"Where…are we?" Bucky croaked.
"A secure facility somewhere in Wakanda. Even I wasn't allowed to see exactly where. T'Challa found the base somehow—wait, wait, hear me out. He heard Zemo's confession, that you really weren't responsible for the UN bombing that killed his father."
"So he decided to shelter us?"
"He realized you were just as much of a victim."
"Not that I've been acting much like one…"
"Stop that. Anyway, apparently none of us were supposed to make it out alive. I don't know if he was working with Zemo or not, but…well, you were there. T'Challa handled both of them in the end."
"So Zemo's dead?"
"The other guy is," Steve said heavily. "Zemo has been turned over to the Hague for more fitting justice."
"And Stark?"
"Got away, as far as I can tell. The point is, the fight is over, and T'Challa has offered whatever resources we need to help you."
Bucky regretted bringing up Stark. It only renewed his guilt, reminded him of the countless times HYDRA had restrained him like this. His eyes stung with the effort to suppress the memories and feelings associated with it. "What if…what if I can't…what if nothing works..."
"Don't talk that way! We'll find something," Steve insisted.
"Even now, they're still in my head. When the adrenaline gets going, it's like everything starts to get jumbled. I can't quite be sure who's on which side, whose side I'm on…" The panic threatened to overwhelm him.
A nurse knocked, then peeked in, worried. "Is everything okay in here?"
"Just give us a minute," Steve told her, holding up a hand, his gaze not leaving Bucky. "Whatever it takes, we will figure it out. I'm not going anywhere. 'Til the end of the line, remember? All you need to think about right now is that you're far from danger, and far from the reach of HYDRA. We won't let them get to you again."
Tears blurred Bucky's vision. The tightness in his chest from holding them back made his whole spine ache. It was a miracle he could feel anything below the gunshot, really, though he didn't know exactly where he'd been hit. Vaguely he picked up on Steve discussing options with the nurse, who was checking the monitor and making notes.
"…Might be time for a little more medication. And I know it's a risk, but since he's awake, the restraints might be doing more harm than good, with his history. Is there any way we can get them removed?"
"His Highness will have to give the final approval, but I can pass it on to the doctor, and I think he would agree," replied the nurse. She looked Steve over as well. "When was the last time you ate?"
"I…well…I kind of had bigger concerns on my mind…" blustered Steve. Bucky threw him an incredulous look, but no one noticed.
"You were not in the greatest shape yourself when you arrived here. I can show you to the kitchen."
"Everyone here has been graciously accommodating the whole time we've been here, we can't begin to express our thanks. And I don't want to over-presume your hospitality, it's just…I don't want to leave his alone yet, either."
"We can have a guard posted if you would feel more comfortable—"
"No, no, it's not like that. He's been through a lot, especially in the last year, and I know what it's like to be stuck in a strange place with no idea what's going on and a lot of bad memories." Steve glanced at Bucky briefly. "I want to make sure he's okay first."
Bucky wished he could say it was okay to go. He wanted to say the words, but he was still holding onto his nerves for dear life.
The nurse regarded Steve kindly. "The console here is for requesting anything you may need during your stay, you or Mr. Barnes. While the short walk would do you some good I think, His Highness spoke of your incredible loyalty to your friend."
"Thank you, ma'am. I promise I will get something shortly."
She nodded and left. Bucky choked down a snort despite his tension. "Same old Rodgers, I see."
"The fact that I called her ma'am, or that I didn't want to be too much of a burden?"
"The fact that you would rather go hungry if it meant keeping me company. And not because I could be a security threat, which is quite possible, but that even after everything I've done, you still think you can save me from my own scrambled mind."
"I think sitting here having this conversation proves that the old you is still in there. It's who you really are, Bucky, so yeah, I believe we can."
"It's never going to be exactly the same, though, is it? I still have to live with those memories, fight the habits that have become so ingrained. Sometimes I feel like I could drown in them."
"But you're not alone anymore. You don't have to let this define you, and I'll be right there to help."
"Even though I tried to kill you more than once."
"You also saved me. You decided that."
"Well, your ass has always needed saving from time to time."
They both chuckled, which made Bucky cough from the dryness in his throat, and both actions made his back throb. Steve poured a glass of water for him; they had an awkward few moments of hesitation, realizing Bucky didn't have the range of motion to take the drink himself, before Steve held it up for him to take a few sips. The heart monitor gradually ticked down to a more relaxed pace.
"I suppose I should say thank you."
"You know I'll gladly do anything—"
"Not just for you playing nurse maid. That's kind of embarrassing, though, really. For saving me. For defending me, to the point of stupidity at times. Don't try to deny it. For coming after me against all odds, for believing in me at all. I don't deserve a friend like you, never did."
"But here I am. I suppose I saw this as the chance to bring you back that I never got during the war." Steve sat down, dropping his gaze to his hands.
"That's not your guilt to carry. I should have been dead. Hell, they told me you were dead. I didn't think I had anything left to live for when they put me under the first time. The two of us here, now, is more than I ever could have asked for."
They let the quiet take over for a while. Bucky ran the blanket through his bare fingers. It was one of those typical medical-type knit covers, not all that different from what was used back when they were in the army. He studied the wires and tubes, the digital screen tracking his vital signs. Technically he had been awake much longer than Steve, but modern innovations still sometimes threw him for a loop. Add to that the disconnect under which he had spent most of that time, and it was pretty easy to feel overwhelmed by it all.
"How do you do it?" His question was almost a whisper. Steve's expression turned to one of confusion.
"What?"
"Deal with…everything from before…all of this now…as if it wasn't bad enough that we survived a war, plus SHIELD and HYDRA and—"
"Whoa, slow down. What are you getting at?"
"You seem almost…normal," Bucky finally tossed out, gesturing with his prosthetic stump, the only limb he could really move. "How did you start to move on, especially when you keep letting yourself get dragged back into messes?"
Steve inhaled slowly, then let it out. He turned the little plastic cup in his hands. "You know Sam is a veteran too, of the modern wars. He also helps out with other veterans when he gets the chance. I don't pretend that my situation is anything like what they've gone through, for better or worse, but he explained his reasoning to me once. He told me a story:
"A man walks down a street one day when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep he can't get out. A doctor passes by, and the man shouts, 'Hey you! Can you help me out?' The doctor writes a prescription, throws it in the hole, and moves on. Then a priest comes along, and the guy shouts up, 'Father, I'm down in this hole, can you help me out?' The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole, and moves on. Then a friend walks by. 'Hey, Joe, it's me, can you help me out?' And the friend jumps in the hole. The man says, 'Are you stupid, now we're both down here.' The friend says, 'Yeah, but I've been down here before, and I know the way out.'"
"And the touchy-feely stuff worked for you?" Bucky commented wryly.
"It's the point that stuck with me. Maybe the best help sometimes is someone who truly knows what you're going through. Sure, I don't go to the group sessions he leads or anything. We crossed paths running the same routes in D.C. But he knew about war, and about losing friends to it. I felt more comfortable having someone to talk to, at least."
Bucky mulled this over in his mind. He had spent the last year in hiding, picking up on basics just to survive, holding steady more than moving forward. He couldn't keep that up long term. And Steve would be the only person on the planet to know where he was coming from.
A loud gurgle interrupted his thoughts. Next to him, Steve wore a sheepish grin. Bucky tried his best to not repeat the previous laughing incident.
"Maybe you should get that food now, before I report you to that nurse. Who knows, you might end up strapped down like me, and force fed," he warned lightheartedly.
"I will, I will, okay? And we'll get you out of those so you can feed yourself." Steve crossed to the console she had pointed out. That's when Bucky's stomach let out an equally insistent growl. His friend glanced over one shoulder, eyebrow raised. "Speaking of which, you wanna mention something?"
Bucky rolled his eyes. "Turn it this way a little, so I can see. I probably won't be going for steak anytime soon, but if you eat something, I'll eat something."
"Okay, deal," Steve laughed in earnest this time.
PS A/N: So, like an idiot, I missed a couple rather egregious errors. They have now been fixed :)