Whumptober 2021 Prompt, Day 28 Nightmares

As sleep claimed Bucky, so did one of his many nightmares. He was hanging naked in a small, dark room. Thick metal cuffs held his hands above him, shackled to a chain attached to the ceiling. His ribs and back ached from the last beating.

His feet could touch the mesh floor, sizzling shards of electricity coursed through him whenever he did. A monotone voice speaking Russian words blared from speakers, so loud the speakers crackled with distortion.

He understood only a few words. 'Hail Hydra. Obedience brings peace.'

He held himself up with his arms, until his flesh one could take no more. The metal one supported his entire weight, and his left shoulder and back screamed with the strain. He hung there for an eternity, until the sound was like a jackhammer in his skull, and he could no longer feel his body.

The muscles attached to the metal arm succumbed and his feet clattered against the mesh floor. Electricity drove up his legs, into his groin and chest, bringing fresh agony. He pulled his knees up, hanging taut from his arms. His head hung forward, strings of oily hair in his face. The room reeked of his own urine and feces.

More hours passed. He couldn't feel his legs. They went limp, and the bottom flesh of his feet touched the electrified floor. He grunted from the jolt of pain as the current coursed through him, but he had no strength to lift his legs. He couldn't catch enough breath to scream. The sound from the monotone Russian words grew louder until he could feel them in his bones.

A brutal blast of water assaulted him briefly. The electricity died. Hands unshackled his wrists. He crashed to the metal mesh floor.

The clang of metal told him they'd closed the cell door. His body was a mass of fatigue and pain. The Russian voice continued its unrelenting chant.

-0- -0- -0-

Steve had barely just managed to fall asleep when a thud woke him. He blinked against the darkness, disoriented. Where was he?

It came to him a second later. Wakanda. The aches in his body from the fight with Tony woke with him.

He heard fast, heavy breathing.

Bucky.

They were sharing a room. The Wakandans had patched both of them up, removing enough of the remains of Bucky' shattered arm until they could arrange surgery to repair the Hydra hatchet job. The blast from Tony that had severed the mechanical arm had also sent a jolt of electricity into Bucky's body and straight along his spinal cord. The serum was the only thing that kept him alive

Steve listened to the fast, panicked breathing and, as his eyes adjusted, his gaze went to the other bed. Even in the dark room, he could make out the crumpled covers and the pillow on the floor, but there was no sign of Bucky. He scanned the room and spotted a shadowy figure against the wall, legs bent, head on his knees, with his right hand wrapped around the back of his neck.

Bucky was silent except for the quick, panicked breaths that filled the room.

Steve got to his feet and crouched in front of his friend. "Hey." He put a hand on Bucky's shoulder.

It was the wrong move. Bucky's arm swept out, connecting hard with Steve's jaw as he scrambled backward until he hit the corner. For a moment, Steve saw bright dots in his vision, and he blinked, dropping to his butt on the floor and rubbing his jaw.

He studied Bucky curled in the corner, hair in front of his face, knees pulled against his chest, arm wrapped around his legs. Even in the darkness, Steve could see the hard tremors coursing through Bucky's body.

Steve's chest ached at the sight. He couldn't imagine the level of abuse it had taken to turn his once brave, smart-alecky, confident friend into this huddled, traumatized mass.

"Bucky," Steve said softly. "It's Steve. You're safe."

Finally, Bucky's breathing steadied, and he raised his head. "Where am I?"

Steve's stomach sank. He wasn't sure if Bucky was just disoriented by a nightmare or flashback and the new surroundings, of if he'd lost some of the ground he'd gained in getting his memories back.

"You're in Wakanda." Steve shifted. "This is a safe place."

"Steve?" It was a shaky exhale.

Steve found himself releasing a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Yeah, Bucky."

"Sorry if I woke you."

"Don't be. Are you okay?"

"Yes." Bucky uncurled and got to his feet and sat on the edge of the bed. "It's okay," his voice cracked. "You don't need to babysit me."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Steve waited for an answer, but when none was forthcoming, he sighed and sat on the bed a foot away from Bucky. "Okay. Get some sleep, if you can."

"Steve?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not the same guy you knew."

Steve closed his eyes briefly. "We're both different, Buck." He strained to see the other man's expression. Bucky's face was a mere shadow in the darkness.

Tentatively, Steve reached up and placed a soft hand on the back of Bucky's neck. He felt his friend tense at the contact, then relax.

"I meant what I said," Steve told him. "I'm with you 'til the end of the line."

A strangled sob escaped Bucky, and he leaned forward, his forehead coming to rest on Steve's shoulder.

"If the Wakandans can't help me," Bucky said, his voice barely above a whisper, "you might have to kill me."

Steve gave Bucky's neck a firm squeeze. "Never gonna happen."

"You might have to." Bucky took a shuddering breath. "I'm just letting you know, I'm okay with that."

Steve closed his eyes. "I'm not."

"I can't trust my own mind."

Steve hoped Shuri and her team could find a way to change that.

-0- -0- -0-

AUTHOR NOTES:

This is a re-written scene from a WIP fic, heavily reworked to be a standalone part of the Whumptober prompt. I do love post Civil War missing scenes! Comments appreciated.