A/N:
This was supposed to be going one way and it went a complete other. Whatever. I'm done with it. If y'all like it, you like it. If you don't, well, lets hope HYDRA erases it from your brains...?
Barnes, James Buchanan.
Sergeant.
Three-two-five-five-seven-zero-three-eight.
His tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth. The silence is unbearable, the only break being a hoarse voice he barely recognizes as his own. It's hot. His vision is blurry; and that damn glow of the room isn't making things any easier.
Barnes, James Buchanan.
Sergeant.
Three-two-five-five-seven-zero-three-eight.
Name, rank, and serial number. It helps to repeat them. To hear something. To speak without saying anything. He knows he can't tell them.
He pauses.
Tell what? He doesn't remember.
Tell who? He can't remember that either.
Barnes, James Buchanan.
Sergeant.
Three-two-five-five-seven-zero-three-eight.
It helps. It helps. It helps. He knows it does. He just can't remember why.
He hears footsteps. Hurried. Nervous. Papers rustling. More footsteps. Going away. He whimpers. Footsteps and papers mean pain. But pain means there is someone there and he isn't left in silence. He almost prefers the pain. The silence is back.
Barnes, James Buchanan.
Sergeant.
Three-two-five-five-seven-zero-three-eight.
He hears more footsteps. A hand touches his chest. He should flinch. The last hand that touched him was only making way for needles but he's just so tired.
Barnes, James Buchanan.
Sergeant.
Three-two-five-"
"Bucky." He stops. He knows that voice. Its familiar. He knows it. He knows it. He knows it.
"Its me. Its Steve."
Steve? A memory comes to him. A tiny little punk with blonde hair, trying to join the army. Failing. Trying again. Failing. Oh right. Steve. Steve is friend. His friend. The little guy that gets into fights. He's here? His vision finally starts to clear and thank God he recognizes him. It is Steve. The little blonde punk is here.
He doesn't realize he says his name out loud until Steve is nodding. Agreeing. Yeah, it really is Steve. Its not just his mind playing tricks again.
Suddenly, the kid is urging him up. Pulling him to his feet. James –wait, Steve said his name is Bucky– shakes the last of the cobwebs from his mind. Its then he notices something different. Steve is cradling his head, looking like he's about to cry.
"I thought you were dead." He says. Bucky ignores him, looking straight into his friend's chest. Shouldn't he be staring over blonde hair?
"I thought you were smaller." He says. A crash sounds from somewhere, drawing Steve's attention before he can reply. Bucky stands up on his toes. Surely this isn't right. He distinctly remembers being the taller one of the two of them.
Gunshots sound and Steve pulls him closer.
"Come on." He urges. Bucky tries. He tries to walk on his own but Steve ends up dragging him halfway out of the room before he can make his legs work again. He's walked maybe three hours in the last month. He's surprised his body begins to work so quickly.
"What happened to you?" He asks. Steve continues helping him to the door. Too safety.
"I joined the army."
Bucky huffs. He joined the army too and all he got was a lousy three months strapped to a table getting experimented on and–
Shit.
He remembers.
Doctor Arnim Zola. Zola was experimenting on him. Injecting him with a serum. A super soldier serum. One that was supposed to make him strong and completely unbeatable. To make him super. Bucky shudders, remembering the alarmingly fast rate of healing after being injected with a fresh dose of the serum. That and the nausea, pain, and torture that followed. He remembers the hallucinations and he grips Steve a little tighter to make sure the appearance of his friend isn't just another figment of his imagination.
"What did they do to you?" He asks Steve. The man takes a moment to explain how he volunteered for Project: Rebirth and became taller, stronger, and heavier; finally able to hold Bucky up rather than the other way around.
Bucky feels sick.
"Did it hurt?" He asks. Steve nods.
"A little." A lot.
Bucky knows he shouldn't but he feels a little better after that. At least he's not weak. At least it hurt, even for tough little Steve. The punk who could take four punches to the jaw and still bait his attacker.
"Is it permanent?" He asks.
"So far." Steve sounds excited.
Bucky just feels sick.