Marvel Cinematic Universe
Standing Watch
By Gabrielle Lawson
Bucky waited until the others were asleep upstairs before he put the record on. He kept the volume low so it wouldn't disturb anyone. He sat on his cot, leaned back against the wall and let the voices of the Andrews Sisters carry him back to the days when he never had to sit out a dance. It was nice.
He felt better tonight than he had for the last couple of weeks. Pepper Stark—and Tony—had forgiven him for killing Howard and Maria Stark as the Winter Soldier. Sarah and the boys had cleaned out this room for him. He had a dresser for his clothes, a cot to sleep on, one of those folding tray tables with an antique record player, and one Andrews Sisters album. Sarah had told him they'd take him to the thrift store to see if he could find more albums he'd like and buy them.
And he'd shared with Sam on the ride from New Orleans to Delacroix that he was actually remembering a better time in Siberia. They had still called him Asset but they had given him real food and lots of water. They had also let him sleep through the night in peace. They made him do exercises in his room, such as jumping jacks and push-ups. Not that he'd remembered the names for the activities back then. They also took him to a weight room to lift weights.
It wasn't a perfect time. He'd seen other men lifting weights and heard them talking with each other about women or what they'd do after shift. He hadn't understood such terms as 'after shift' or 'home'. And when he'd asked, he was either ignored or punished. Punishment meant getting hit or kicked, and sometimes they used the rods that shocked him. Bucky remembered those rods now from his previous memories, but as Asset, he'd had to start over after the machine. But Asset had worked out a couple things. He'd recognized that only he had a metal arm and that he was considered less than the other men in the facility, despite his name literally meaning an item of value.
Still, outside the freezer, he couldn't remember any better treatment. So Bucky thought that after the album was over, he'd try to get some sleep. For now, he picked up his notebook and wrote down the good memories the music was bringing him. Like the times he'd tried to teach Steve to dance with his sisters. He wasn't half bad with the younger two as they were smaller than him. Rebecca, however, had grown enough to be taller by an inch or two. And the dynamic just didn't work with Steve. He was clumsier with her while trying to lead, and he'd end up stepping on her toes until she'd insisted on being only an example of good dancing by dancing with Bucky.
The last song ended. Bucky tucked the notebook into the top draw of his dresser, then stopped the needle and turned off the player. He turned off the light then climbed between the blankets on the cot and closed his eyes.
Sam Wilson was flying. No suit, no wings, just him, floating above the clouds. It was exhilarating. When the clouds parted, he could look down and see the lights from a city far below.
The sound of screaming took him immediately out of the dream to wakefulness. He jumped out of bed, worried that someone was attacking one of his nephews. But they were out in the hall with Sarah when he got there. The sound was coming from downstairs. Bucky.
Sam told Sarah to get the boys back to bed. He ran down the steps, then turned left for the living room. Bucky's room was on the other side of the living room. He stubbed his toe on the coffee table in the darkness but ignored the pain to get to Bucky.
He knew he had to wake Bucky up, but he hesitated for a moment, thinking Bucky could take him for someone in his dream who was definitely hurting him. Then Sam could end up with broken bones. But the hesitation was only for a moment. Bucky needed to wake up. There was enough light from the window that he could see Bucky was lying on his back.
"Bucky!" Sam shouted, hoping the sound alone would do the trick. But the screaming didn't stop. So he bent over and shook Bucky's shoulders then let go. "You're safe! You're free! Wake up!"
The screaming stopped. Bucky sat up so fast that Sam was knocked to the floor. Sam looked up at him and saw that he was shaking and starting to hyperventilate. Sam got up quick and sat down beside Bucky's legs. "You with me?"
Bucky didn't answer. His eyes were wide and his breath was coming faster and faster.
Sarah appeared in the doorway. "Paper bag," Sam told her. She rushed away.
Bucky pulled his legs up and turned so he was sitting flat against the wall. Sarah returned, handed Sam the bag, then stepped away.
Sam opened the bag and lifted Bucky's right hand enough to put the bag in it. "Breathe into the bag." He bent Bucky's still shaking arm toward his face. Bucky's other arm came up, and he held the bag over his nose and mouth.
Once his breathing slowed, Sam pulled the bag away. "Better?"
But Bucky wasn't looking at him. He was facing the dresser but Sam realized he was seeing right through the wall again.
"Bucky," he tried again. "Come back."
"Steve?" Bucky breathed.
Sam sighed. On one hand, he was happy for Steve getting to go back and live the life he'd missed. But on the other, he was furious with him. What happened to the end of the line? Or 'Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky'? Because Bucky was nowhere near the end of his line, and he'd been left behind.
"No, man. It's Sam."
"Sam?"
"Yeah, I'm here. That was a bad one, huh?"
"Still is."
Sam made a mental note to call Dr. Raynor in the morning. Bucky's PTSD was out of his depth and beyond his training. He could help, he hoped, as a friend. But he couldn't be Bucky's therapist. He was used to vets who'd seen too much or done too much. But prolonged torture?
Still, it was the middle of the night. He had to try. "What are you seeing? What's happening?"
"Strapped to a bed," Bucky whispered, hardly any louder than before. But more panicky. "Blue tubes burning. Beams from the ceiling. It hurts." He gasped a breath in. "Please let me die!"
Sam frantically tried to make sense of the clues. He thought about the notebook, the last entry he'd read. Bucky came out of the machine and didn't recognize Zola. Zola smiled. "Now we can make you strong." It was the serum. The blue tubes. The serum was burning him. And Nagel had said his serum was subtle. No jacked up bodies or clunky machines. That had something to do with it. Radiation? Hadn't Steve had some kind of radiation?
Bucky stopped breathing. Sam scooted back on the cot and closer to Bucky. "Bucky?"
"I died," so quiet. Sam was getting used to the dark. He could see the tear slip from Bucky's eye. "They wouldn't let me stay that way," he sobbed. Then he gagged and coughed. "Tube in my throat."
"To help you breathe. Just breathe." Sam took Bucky's hand to try and ground him in the present. "It'll be over soon." Bucky squeezed his hand, hard enough to hurt. But when Sam didn't feel any bones crunching, he grit his teeth to bear it.
The light from outside was getting slowly brighter. Sarah was sitting on the floor in the doorway. He could see she was crying.
Sam's fingertips started to tingle, so he wiggled them free of Bucky's hand. He put his other hand on Bucky's shoulder to keep the connection. But he was getting tired. The initial rush of adrenaline was fading. Sam dropped his hand after a few minutes and just leaned his shoulder into Bucky's.
After perhaps an hour, Bucky whispered again. "Lights out. No beams. Still straps, still burning."
An hour now must have been more hours then. Hours of excruciating pain and burning, left to be strapped to the bed for the night. "Did you sleep?" he whispered back.
"No."
But as the light brightened in the room, Sam realized Bucky's breathing was slowing and evening out.
His whispers were less frantic, more present, if that was a thing. "They took me to the weight room. One told me to lift the largest weight with my right hand. It wasn't heavy anymore. So I threw it in his face." Then Bucky blinked. He turned and looked at Sam like he'd only just realized he was there.
"Good for you," Sam told him, and he meant it. "Hope you got a few of them at least."
Bucky turned back to the dresser, but he nodded. "I did, until they stopped me."
"It was the serum. You were strong, super strong. Why didn't you keep fighting?"
"They shot me with something. Shocked me all over and I couldn't move. 'You are strong,'" Bucky said in an accent. "'But we must teach you again that we are your masters.'"
Sam sighed. Of course they did. Bucky did become the Winter Soldier, after all. "The machine?" he guessed.
Bucky nodded.
Morning light was pouring through window, and Sam heard movement upstairs. Sarah wiped her eyes and left to help get the boys ready for school.
As awful as the night was, Sam actually felt they'd reached a turning point in these memories. That was the probably the worst of it. The machine was terrible and it would probably happen again and again. But the process of making him a super soldier had actually killed him, though he was apparently resuscitated.
"I'm sorry," Bucky breathed.
Sam shook his head. "Don't be. That wasn't your fault. Besides, this time, you let me go through it with you."
"It felt like you were standing in the room with me. Watching."
Sam sighed again and sat up straighter. "I meant it when I said you weren't alone this time. Look man, you gotta talk to Dr. Raynor. Really talk to her. Getting it out is the first step in healing. And she wants to help you."
"Do you trust her?"
"Only met her the once," Sam admitted, "and she definitely made it weird. But it worked. You opened up. I didn't address it right then but I heard you. If Steve was wrong about me, then he was wrong about you."
"He wasn't wrong about you."
Sam smiled. "And he wasn't wrong about you, either. And he figured that out as soon as he recognized you on the street. You recognized him, didn't you?"
"I started to remember," Bucky answered. "I knew I knew him. But then the machine."
"And then the guy that tore off my wing and kicked me off the helicarrier." Sam laughed. "I had a hard time with Steve's opinion of you back then."
Bucky chuckled softly. "Sorry about that. And your car."
"Eh, I had insurance," Sam said, bumping his shoulder. "And Tony gave me better wings." He laughed again. "Then you got Wakanda to give me the best wings! So I think it all worked out." Sam stood and stretched. "I, for one, need coffee. You?"
"Maybe later," Bucky replied. His voice was getting stronger. "I think I'll listen to that record again first."
"We'll go later and find you some more," Sam told him as he headed for the door. "I'll save you some breakfast."
Sam met Sarah and the kids at the table. The boys were just finishing up.
"Is Uncle Bucky going to be okay?" Cass asked.
Sam waved him over and hugged him close. "Sometimes when something really bad happens to someone, they get really bad nightmares."
"Like I did when Daddy died?"
Sam nodded his head. "Just like that. Bucky had one of those nightmares."
"What happened to him that was bad?" AJ asked.
Too much to tell a kid his age. "Maybe Uncle Bucky will be able to tell you someday, but until then, that's his story to tell. All you need to know is that it was very bad and that makes it hard for him to tell you about it."
AJ rolled his eyes. "You mean I'm too young."
"That, too," Sam agreed. "He's sorry he woke you up and yes, he will be okay. But he's going to have good days and bad days just like everyone else."
"He's here," Sarah added. "And we're gonna love him even on the hard days, right? 'Cause that's what we do with family."
"Yes, Mama," both said in unison.
So Bucky was officially family. Sam found he didn't mind that as much as he thought he might.
"Make sure Bennett and Elling—"
"We know," AJ interrupted. He kissed his mother on the cheek then turned to go. Cass gave Sam one more squeeze then hurried after him.
Sarah waited until the boys were good and on their way. "What was that, Sam?"
"It was when they made him a super soldier. It was very painful and it went on for a very long time."
"Is he going to be okay?"
"I hope so. I told you the highlights. It really is his story to tell or not tell. Just know he never went with them willingly, or knowingly. They took his mind before they took his body. But if it's too much, I can get us a motel room until we find an apartment. He still shouldn't be alone."
Sarah turned and leaned back on the counter. "I meant what I said, Sam. We're gonna love him even on the hard days. Or nights. He's family. That's how he'll have the good days."
Sam smiled and shook his head. "I'm gone five years and you got all wise."
Sarah put a mug of coffee in front of him. "You finally noticed!"
The End
©2021 Gabrielle Lawson