The cold is stinging his flesh like needles piercing an oversized voodoo doll. The pain is everywhere and Bucky can't see. His world has become an ocean of red, and white, and hurt behind his eyelids. Everything sways and spins upside down. It's nauseating.
There's an sudden bump as his head grinds over something hard and sharp. He gasps, sucking ice-cold air into his lungs. It rattles in the back of his throat.
Bucky tries to open his eyes, blinking sluggishly against the blinding brightness. The sky's white, the ground is... His arm is— That can't be right.
Someone is pulling him through the snow.
"...ass is gonna be frozen anyways. It'll be like sticking your thing in a freezer."
"Doesn't the arm turn you off at all? Come on. I can see the bone from here..."
Bucky doesn't understand. He tries to speak, to ask for something but he can't remember the words. His head hurts too much to think. He can't think.
God, he's thirsty.
"Look at him. That guy's half dead."
"Don't judge me, man. You don't know what I like."
There's laughter. Who's laughing? What is this?
"...a freak, you know that. When they find out—"
"Wa—ter..." Bucky's tongue is stuck to his palate. It tastes like rubber in his mouth. "Plea...ssse... Water..."
"Did you hear that? I think... he wants... in his mouth..."
"Where's... Ugh." Focus. They need to tell him... "Steve... Where—"
Someone yanks his head up by his hair and Bucky cries out sharply at the rough treatment, blinking frantically, unable to make out any shapes at first. His frost-crusted eyes are stinging, unfocused, struggling to get used to the light.
Three men are surrounding him. They're military. Russian uniforms. Heavily armed. Two guns pointed right at him.
"Who's Steve? Your boyfriend?" The tall one who's holding him upright laughs.
— What?
"I don't... What are you— I'm... American. US Army— See?" Bucky rasps, gesturing towards the insignia on his jacket with his right hand. Its shaking fingers have a weird blu-ish tone to them and won't bend at all. "American. Please..."
The sinister smile is getting uncomfortable close now. Bucky doesn't have the strength to pull away. He can feel his conscience slipping again. The warm breath on his face feels strangely comforting, encouraging him to close his eyes momentarily. Just for a little while...
Don't fall asleep!
If you fall asleep now, you'll never awake up again!
The guy lets go of his hair without warning and gives him a mean shove. Bucky falls to the ground sideways, face first into the aching cold.
He whimpers miserably. The mangled arm on the left burns like it's on fire, a sharp contrast to the rest of his useless frozen body.
They laugh again.
"Sergeant— James." Bucky coughs and tries again. Tears are streaming down his face freely, leaving tracks where they melt the frost on his cheeks. "Sergeant James... Buchanan Barnes. 32557...038."
They come closer now, cornering him from all sides like a pack of wolves ready to go in for the kill. Bucky is trapped, a wounded animal in their midst.
Be brave, he tells himself. Steve will come for you soon. It can't get any worse than last time. This isn't Hydra...— Oh, but it's already worse, isn't it? The voice in his head supplies in a heinous whisper. Last time you fought them with two good arms.
One of the guys crouches down to his level and distracts Bucky from his spiraling thoughts.The face in front of him is colored in dark purple all of a sudden and Bucky realizes with a growing panic that the grotesque alien body towering over him has become so much bigger than before.
"Don't you worry, soldier," Thanos jeers, sizing him up with an evil glint in his eyes and reaching for his belt.
— NO! STOP! STOP!DON'T!THIS ISN'T REAL —
"We'll take such good care of you...""NO!!!!!!!"
— Bucky wakes up with a scream.
He makes a fist and bits into his knuckles right away to stop himself from making those horrible high-pitched animal noises that seem to come from deep within his chest and will wake up the whole crew.
His breath is coming too fast, whole body soaked in sweat and trembling like a leaf. He can still feel the cold and their hands on his body and... He's gonna throw up.
Bucky stumbles out of bed, lets himself fall to the floor, and pukes right into the trash can. He stays hunched over it retching convulsively until there's nothing left. Then he's dry heaving some more.
The dreams have become more frequent lately. It's like the relative safety on Hela's ship has given him too much time to think about the past again. When Thanos doesn't torture him, he's doing it to himself.
"Fuck..."Bucky touches the dog tags on his chest and holds them in his hand, passing over the numbs on the chain like a rosary.
"It's over. You're ok now. You're safe. You're alright. They're dead. They can't hurt you anymore. It was all in your head. Deep breaths. Come on now. Everything's alright..."
"Boss? Hey, boss?" Korg knocks on his door. He lives right next to Bucky and the walls are thin.
"Can I come in?"
"Go... away. Please, just..."
Korg enters regardless of Bucky's objections, seemingly unbothered by his state and the smell.
"Where I'm from there's a rule: Friends don't let friends puke alone. Besides, I gotta hold your hair and shit. My people might not have the equipment themselves but we ain't savages."
Korg settles on the floor besides him. Carefully, he pushes some strands out of Bucky's pale face to pin them behind his ears with a rubble finger, lightly scratching the skin.
"Gotta stop you from getting it all over."
Bucky shivers but doesn't protest the touch. He feels too weak to do much of anything except hold the trash can in a death grip and shake himself apart.
"Don't look at me like that."
"Hate to tell ya, but you got that PTSD thing, mate. It's all very out there."
"You think?"
"I'm no expert or nothin' but you're pretty clear."
Bucky rolls his eyes weakly, not quite mustering the energy to sass back yet.
Korg sighs. "I had a friend once. In the arena. Handsome fella. The grandmaster was very interested in that one. Said he had potential, didn't say for what..." He pauses, darting a compassionate sideways glance at Bucky with knowing eyes. "Poor guy had the same kind of dreams that you're having, talkin' in his sleep sometimes, too."
Bucky stays silent for a long time, trying hard not to throw up again in company. Ever since the surgery that permanently installed the voice emitter in his throat, his gag reflex has been quite trigger happy and it's almost impossible not to focus on the bad taste in his mouth.
When the urge has finally passed, he unclenches his fingers from the trash can where they've left deep imprints and wipes his mouth.
"Something happened to me back home. Something... bad. I can't get over it. Sometimes, I think I'm done with it all and the next day... I'm right back where I started. I dream about it all the time, and when I do, I make up even more shit to go with the memories. Like I need to spice it up. I swear, I want to get better but I don't. I just— don't. It's fucking frustrating is what it is."
He hugs his body with cold metal arms. Steve used to hate his dreams. He'd wake him up in the middle of the night, distressed about the sounds, holding him tight against his chest pretending not to cry himself when he didn't know the half of— No. Bucky cuts himself off. Thinking about that won't help him now.
Korg gives him a friendly pat on the back that thankfully doesn't make him want to jump right out of his skin. "You see, I figured since we're going back to Earth soon, I could kick their asses for you. You know, pay a visit, smash some heads."
"Nah, thanks but they're all dead anyways. It happened a long time ago. Or most of it did. I'm just kind of reliving the past— creatively."
"Hm... I see. Too bad. I could have done some impressive smashing. I watched the mighty Hulk fight. Picked up some tricks."
"I don't doubt it."
Bucky lets his shoulders slump and sighs, purposely relaxing his tense muscles.
Korg gestures at the trash can. "Want me to clean that up for you, boss?"
"No, you don't have to do that. Sorry to wake you, man. Just... Wait a sec—" Bucky regards him suspiciously. "What do you know about going to Earth anyways?"
"Nothing much. Just that we're supposed to wait up here. Wait for a signal."
"OK... Anything else I should know about?"
"Don't worry. Briefing wasn't much to go on but I know when something smells. Besides all the puke, you know?" Korg laughs warmly.
Bucky tries to give him a smile. He doesn't want to imagine what Thanos could do to the gentle giant if they failed to complete the task.
"Do me a favor, yeah? Make sure the crew's ready to leave at a moments notice."
"Not a problem, boss."
"Good. I can't tell you what's going on but please, don't play the hero or nothing. You're a good guy, Korg."
"You, too, boss. Are you excited to see your man yet?"
Bucky really does smile at that although it hurts to think about Steve living on without him. There's no way around it. Doctor Strange has been dead for years and Hela can't control the time stone enough to turn him into a real boy again. He's asked her to try, and she said she would, but it will never work out. Saving everyone and taking off without ever being seen is the best outcome. Everything else is too great a risk.
"There's a good chance I won't get to see him at all. Better not to get my hopes up, you know?"
"That's smart, I guess, but you never know what the future may hold. I'd love to meet him one day, your Captain."
"I hope you will." Bucky sighs. "I really do."