Bucky somehow managed to get his arms underneath him. He pushed himself to his hands and knees, but then didn't seem to be able to get any farther than that. He just remained on all fours, swaying slightly as the doors closed behind him and the train started to move.
Finally, Sam remembered that he should be moving. He took Bucky's arm and hauled him to his feet, then deposited him in one of the sideways plastic seats. Bucky blinked in confusion and vague distaste, moving restlessly in the uncomfortable seat before giving up and letting his head tilt backwards. Sam shoved the bags out of the way and dropped into the seat next to Bucky.
"Sorry I didn't catch you," Sam said guiltily. Bucky simply stared at him, but before he closed his eyes he squirmed a little closer to Sam. Sam figured that, under the circumstances, that was about as good as he could ask for. He put his hand on Bucky's knee, keeping an eye on Bucky to make sure he wasn't going to go to sleep again.
"You gotta stay awake, B," Sam reminded him. He wanted to let Bucky sleep, probably more than anything he'd wanted in a very long time, but it simply wasn't a good idea. He'd barely gotten Bucky to wake up back on the plane, and if the ten-minute process had to be repeated at the end of the tram ride, then they'd certainly miss their stop, and then probably their next flight, and instead of being able to sleep on a plane Bucky would still be stranded in the Romanian airport. Sam shuddered. As horrible as the thought of keeping Bucky awake was, the thought of anything else was too dreadful to be borne.
"B," Sam said, shaking Bucky's knee. Bucky opened one eye and glared dizzily at him, rocking back and forth gently with the motion of the train.
"C'mon, man," Sam pleaded. "I'm really sorry about this, but I'm gonna have to talk at you 'til you stop trying to sleep."
Bucky frowned, and Sam rubbed his thumb along his sleepy husband's knee. "I'm thinking Chinese for dinner tomorrow? We could get dumplings, or maybe chow mein…. Anything but the sweet and sour soup, I got food poisoning off that one time in college-"
Sam rattled on, not even really listening to himself. As he talked, he was beginning to realize just how exhausted he was. The motion of the train was soothing, and the lack of windows made Sam fall deeper into the sense of a liminal space, stretching on without end. Sam was struggling to stay awake, to keep talking, especially when every movement he made tugged at yet another aching muscle. All he wanted to do was put his head next to Bucky's and let himself rest.
Sam realized he'd stopped talking and shook himself impatiently. "Caffeine," he muttered. "As soon as this train stops, I'm gonna grab like five Red Bulls."
"Mmm," Bucky said quietly. Well, that, at least, was a response, and Sam took it as an invitation to engage with Bucky.
Sam twisted on the seat to face Bucky, who hadn't moved his head from the back of the seat. His eyes were open now, and he was staring blankly up at the roof of the train.
"Have you ever even had an energy drink?" Sam asked. "Probably not, right, with you being a Super Soldier and all? You already got plenty of energy. Except when you're drinking all my coffee, but I think that's mostly 'cause you're kind of a dick. Am I right?"
Bucky sighed. "I don't know what that is," he said.
"An...energy drink?"
"I don't remember what that is. I've never heard of that before."
In another context, Sam might have assumed Bucky was telling the truth. He'd lived in the modern world long enough that he knew pretty much everything, but every once in a while, they would realize something had somehow snuck under the radar, and Bucky had never heard of it before. For example, it had come up only last year that Bucky had somehow entirely missed video cassettes.
But energy drinks weren't in that category. Sam wasn't sure if Bucky had ever had one, but he knew he'd seen Sam drink the occasional energy drink, and they'd talked about it at the time.
"You know, like Red Bull? You've watched me drink them before, I just didn't think you would like it because of all the chemicals-"
"What are you talking about?" Bucky said, sounding soft and annoyed. "A red bowl? I don't think we even have one of those."
"No, I mean...nevermind. Or like Monster? You must have seen Monster around, right?"
Bucky blinked slowly, still staring up at the ceiling of the train. For a minute, Sam thought he wasn't going to respond, and Sam started frantically trying to think of what else he could do to keep him awake.
"I went to Monster once," Bucky said quietly.
"You went to...you went to what?"
"Monster. The...the place where they make Monster," Bucky said. His voice was oddly flat, and so quiet Sam had to strain to hear him over the steady rumbling of the train.
"You mean...the place where they make Monster energy? Like the Monster factory?"
"No," Bucky said definitively. "The other kind of Monster."
Sam spent a moment trying to figure out if this conversation did mean something, and Sam was just too exhausted to figure it out, and then decided that it wasn't that. Bucky was just straight up hallucinating at this point, telling Sam about things that only existed in his own mind, and Sam didn't care for this shit at all. Why had no one warned him that this was a potential side effect?
"We're underneath a train," Bucky whispered.
"What?"
"I mean...," his brow furrowed with concentration, a dent appearing between his eyes. "We're inside a train."
"Oh," Sam said. "Yeah, Buck. We're inside a train."
"Hmm," Bucky said softly, frowning. The dent deepened, and Sam resisted the urge to reach over and smooth it out with his finger. Ordinarily, Bucky would be fine with that sort of thing from Sam, but he was so out of it right now that Sam wasn't sure he'd be able to handle something like a hand coming towards his eyes. He settled for stroking Bucky's knee again, hoping that the train ride would be over soon, or that Bucky would wake up enough to stop spitting nonsense, even for just a sentence or two.
Bucky did not feel well. Unfortunately, he didn't think there was any way he could possibly communicate this to Sam. He wasn't even sure if the feeling was real, or just a product of his muddled brain. At this point, he could barely trust anything that went through his mind, or came out of his mouth.
Still, he didn't think it was his imagination. It felt like he was moving, swaying back and forth, even occasionally jerking to one side or the other. Surely he couldn't be imagining that, right?
Whichever it was, the real or imagined motion was making him genuinely sick. Bucky swallowed painfully, feeling his stomach twist in displeasure. He didn't...he didn't think he was allowed to throw up, though. Wasn't he...weren't they somewhere important, somewhere that if he threw up, he'd probably cause some kind of problem?
"Hey, Bucky, you feelin' okay? You're looking kinda green."
That was Sam. He sounded worried. His words didn't really make any sense to Bucky - they were little more than a jumble of sounds that Bucky couldn't begin to make sense of, but he could recognize the tone.
Bucky opened his eyes, expecting to see Sam's face. Instead, he appeared to be looking up at some kind of ceiling, like on a train. There were hatches in the roof.
That was right, they were moving. On a train. He knew that, he'd just forgotten.
"Baby? You still with me?" Sam again, still worried.
"Train," Bucky mumbled. That was about all he could get out before his stomach spasmed and he clamped his mouth shut, gritting his teeth around the nausea.
"Aww, man, are you gonna throw up? Buck, please don't throw up, we're on a train - oh god, I don't even have a bag or anything…."
Bucky felt Sam's hand squeezing his shoulder, and that helped a little. He closed his eyes and breathed in through his mouth, slow and steady.
"There you go," Sam said, sounding deeply relieved.
"Nope," Bucky mumbled. He wasn't sure if that was the right word, he couldn't really tell what Sam was saying and words were jumbling inside his brain, their meanings melting into nonsense.
"No?" Sam asked, sounding anxious again. Had Bucky said something wrong? He frowned, trying to figure out how to explain himself.
"Mi-e rău," Bucky finally whispered. He was proud of himself, until Sam's hand tightened on his shoulder.
"Umm, I don't think that's English, baby."
Bucky blinked. Sometimes, when he was hurt or sick or tired or scared, his brain stopped working so well. His senses would get overwhelming - hot or cold would register as pain, or he wouldn't be able to hear Sam over the sound of a fan in the other room. Sometimes, if it got bad enough, he would have a hard time communicating. He knew so many languages, and sometimes they would all get mixed up in his head and he would forget which one he was speaking. Sometimes, he wouldn't be able to speak at all.
The train smelled weird. A bit antiseptic, like cleaning supplies, but also dirty. The smell of too many people. It reminded him of a way a hospital smelled. Not the way everyone wanted it to smell, but the way it actually smelled.
He knew the lights were wrong, but he couldn't tell if they were too bright, or too dim. He narrowed his eyes - everything was suddenly blurry.
He was dizzy. Had he been this dizzy the whole time? Was it the movement of the train? Was he going to pass out? There was a sort of pressure behind his eyes that made it hard to stay oriented.
"Try again," Sam said gently.
Try...oh, right. He hadn't been speaking English. Sam spoke English. If Bucky wanted Sam to understand, he would need to speak English too.
He'd been trying to tell Sam he felt sick. He could still feel the nausea churning in his stomach, the shivery feeling down his spine, the sweat making his palms sticky. He still felt like he was a few minutes out from vomiting, especially if he had to stay on this train. Even though his thoughts were exhausted and sluggish, he could still remember what was happening. Sort of.
But he just couldn't make the words come out. He shook his head slightly, the feeling of defeat making the nausea worse.
"It's okay, baby, don't worry," Sam said, but Bucky thought he sounded sad. "We're just...soon we can get off the train. And then we'll be nearly at our gate, and we can get you on the plane, and then you can go back to sleep. Does that sound good?"
That did sound good, and Bucky nodded. He thought everything would feel a whole lot better if he were able to sleep.
Some amount of time passed, and Bucky drifted. Eventually, the train stopped, and Bucky felt Sam tugging at his arm. "Get up," Sam said. "We're getting off the train."
Bucky got to his feet, and his stomach immediately did a horrifying swoop. It was so unexpected that he involuntarily gagged, feeling saliva start to pool in the back of his mouth.
"Nope, nope," Sam said, and he sounded calm. Bucky was grateful for that. "Come on, no, we're getting off…."
There was a hand at his back, guiding him towards the door. Bucky dug his fingernails into his hand, trying to stave off the feeling of rising nausea. He gulped air, trying to force back the constriction in his throat.
"You're doing great," Sam told him encouragingly, and Sam's hand slipped under his elbow, and Bucky was going through the door and he was going to make it, Sam would just have to get him to a trash can or something.
But as soon as he stepped through the door he stumbled, hard, his boot going a few inches further down than he'd expected. The sudden motion jarred his stomach, and Bucky was dizzy, and wobbling on his feet, and the lights were too bright and the people were too loud and he was throwing up, wherever he was.
All Bucky was really conscious of was the agonizing burning in his throat and nose, and the horrifying weakness that was spreading through his limbs. Bucky blinked at the ground beneath him a few times, then closed his eyes and lurched heavily sideways into Sam.
Sam caught Bucky with one hand, the other going to his mouth as he stared in horror. He'd known that Bucky was about to throw up, he'd gone pale and clammy five minutes before the train had stopped, right about when he had stopped speaking English. When Sam had helped him up at the stop, Bucky had started gasping, and Sam knew he had a very small amount of time to get Bucky to a trash can before he threw up right where he was.
Still, under no circumstances had Sam actually thought that Bucky might just throw up on an airport floor in public. He had just...refused to consider that as a real possibility. For the first time, he was glad that Bucky had on the ball cap disguise, and that Sam had put on a pair of glasses before leaving the plane. He felt unimaginably guilty for it immediately afterwards, but...but he was still relieved that no one knew who had just puked in an airport.
Beside him, about five seconds too late, Bucky gasped, sagging weakly against him. "Oh god," he mumbled softly. "Did I...fuck, 'm real sorry, Sam…."
Sam closed his eyes, feeling somehow more guilty. Wrapping his arm more securely around Bucky's shoulders, he rubbed his hand along Bucky's arm.
"It's okay, Buck," Sam told him, summoning every ounce of willpower remaining to him and banishing any trace of horror from his tone. "Don't worry about it, alright? I'm just gonna...gonna find someone to tell them, and you can forget all about it."
Sam looked around, hoping to be magically presented with an airport janitor who happened to be fluent in English, but this end of the tram appeared to be just as deserted as the area they'd boarded. This was, of course, really good news in the sense that no one had really seen Bucky puke on the floor, but it also made it a lot harder for Sam to find any kind of staff to unload the problem on someone else.
Sam felt awfully guilty about that too, and he usually would have just cleaned it up himself, but he didn't read Romanian and he couldn't see any signs for a bathroom and he was holding three bags and one Bucky and he could barely think through his exhaustion and most importantly, he just couldn't force Bucky to be awake and functioning any longer than he absolutely had to.
"Do you feel like you're going to throw up again?" Sam asked.
Bucky made an unhappy humming sound. Sam was familiar with all the different sounds he could make - this one meant "probably, but not right now."
Sam looked around. Maybe fifty yards away, there was a little row of stores and restaurants. It looked like some of them were closed, probably because of the time, but a lot of them were open. There were bound to be people there, people Sam could ask for help. And he could pick up water for Bucky, maybe some ginger ale, and some caffeine for himself.
Sam sighed, and gave Bucky's arm another pat. "I'm real sorry you feel so shitty, huh? We're just gonna go right over there, to those little stores, okay? I'm gonna sit you down somewhere, and then I'm going to grab some supplies. Maybe something to rinse your mouth out. That would be better, right?"
Bucky made another humming sound that was significantly less displeased.
On a normal day, the walk from the train to the row of stores would have taken...oh, about ten seconds. Not so today. Bucky seemed to have gone significantly down hill since throwing up. He kept tripping over his own feet, and Sam found himself taking more and more of his weight. Bucky tapped on Sam's shoulder at one point, and Sam could tell he was getting close to puking again. Sam had to stop walking and just rub his back for a minute, letting Bucky concentrate on not throwing up.
Eventually, Sam managed to get them to a bench outside one of the shops. "Alright," Sam said. "Just sit down here and rest for a second. Try not to fall asleep, but I...I know you might not be able to help it. Look, there's a trash can right here, in case you feel like you're gonna throw up again."
Bucky stared at Sam with blank, confused eyes. Sam patted his shoulder, and pointed at the trash can situated at the end of the bench. "See, right there."
Bucky slowly turned his glassy eyes towards the trash can, but Sam had no idea whether he was comprehending what was happening on any level, or simply following the movement of Sam's hand.
"I'll be right in there, okay?" Sam said, pointing at the store. "This is just going to take a minute, and I'll get some stuff that's going to make us feel better."
Sam did not like leaving Bucky, even for a second. Especially when Bucky was this out of it. There were just a lot of things that could go wrong when bringing Bucky Barnes into public - he could freak out, he could shut down, he could hurt someone else - and Sam didn't like leaving any of those options to become a possibility. But Bucky was really getting too heavy for Sam to continue carrying, especially with his back brutally sore after their last mission, and he thought he might get better service from the store employee if he didn't bring a Super Soldier into the mix to knock over their wares or throw up on their floor.
It was once Sam had turned away from Bucky that he realized how brutally tired he was. Between one breath and the next, he was suddenly so bone-tired that it was hard to put one foot in front of the other. He knew this exhaustion didn't hold a candle to what Bucky was feeling but god...it had been a long day.
He yawned, feeling like his jaw would split from the force of it, and rubbed his eyes hard as he trudged towards the line of airport "convenience" shops. Once again, he thought about how Bucky must feel about ten times worse than this, and that was absolutely unthinkable.
Sam walked into the first newsstand he came to and got ginger ale, a water bottle, and five Red Bulls. The ginger ale and the water was for Bucky, and the Red Bulls were for him. The shopkeeper - of course - didn't speak much English, and Sam didn't know how much success he had describing Bucky's mishap. Hopefully, the apologetic pointing and the pleas to "call maintenance" were sufficient. Sam was starting to get agitated about leaving Bucky alone for this long, and they were running out of time to find their gate, and as bad as he felt about the entire situation, this was the best he could offer.
The shopkeeper gave him the plastic bag with his purchases, and Sam immediately transferred the ginger ale, Red Bulls, and water to his jacket pockets, leaving the bag empty in case Bucky decided he needed to puke again. He stuffed that in his pocket, too, and hurried back to Bucky.
Sam came up from behind the bench, his heart sinking as he approached. Bucky seemed to be asleep, his shoulders slumped forward, his head bowed. Sam cut around the front in a wide loop, careful not to actually surprise Bucky from behind.
"Aww, Buck…." Now that Sam was in front of his husband, he could see that Bucky's head was resting in his hands, his shoulders shaking. Sam couldn't quite make out his face behind his fingers, but he was pretty sure Bucky was crying.
Exhaustion forgotten, Sam was kneeling before Bucky in an instant. Gently, he took Bucky's wrists, pulling his hands away from his face. Bucky didn't resist, staring downwards as tears collected in his long, dark lashes and spilled down his cheeks.
"Hey," Sam whispered, using his thumb to wipe away the tears on Bucky's face. "Why are you crying, Bucky?"
Bucky just shook his head once, closing his eyes and spilling more tears down his face. His breath hitched a little on his next exhale, and Sam felt his heart twist.
"Come here," Sam told him, pulling his husband into a hug. Bucky's face went into his chest, and Sam put a hand on the back of his head, stroking the soft, fuzzy hair on his neck. Bucky's flesh hand crept upwards, tangling itself in Sam's shirt. His head burrowed a little further into Sam's chest, and Sam continued stroking the back of Bucky's head.
"It's okay, baby," Sam said sadly, wishing that this whole terrible adventure wasn't happening to them. He figured that Bucky was embarrassed by puking on the floor (honestly, who could blame him) and his exhausted brain was too overwhelmed to process that emotion any way but tears. Frankly, Sam could relate to that, too. He didn't even have Super Soldier Ambien as an excuse, and this whole situation had him on the edge of crying himself.
"I got you some water to rinse your mouth out," Sam continued. "And a little ginger ale for after that. Looks like the same kind they have back in the States. It should help settle your stomach."
Bucky didn't respond. Sam was starting to get worried.
"Hey, B, you with me?" Sam asked.
This time, Bucky did respond. With a soft snore.
"Shit," Sam said quietly. He should have seen this coming. Bucky had managed to stay awake while Sam picked up the supplies, but as soon as he felt safer...of course he'd fallen asleep. Sam was a little surprised that it could happen just like that, but...it's what was happening. And Sam would have to deal with it.
Sam realized his eyes were watering, and his throat was tight. Was he crying? That was embarrassing. He couldn't have Captain America crying in an airport. What if someone saw? Step one, he needed to get himself together.
He shifted Bucky slightly to the side. Bucky didn't even stir - it seemed he was already pretty deeply asleep. He managed to fish one of the Red Bulls from his pocket and open it one-handed, keeping Bucky wrapped securely in his other arm. He chugged the Red Bull, grimacing at the taste. He was probably too old to be pounding energy drinks, but the welcome feeling of caffeine flowing through his veins was worth it. He felt more equipped to...well, more equipped to not be crying in an airport, anyways. For the rest, he would have to see.
"Alright, Bucky," he said. "Time to wake up. Come on."
Unsurprisingly, Bucky did not wake up. Sam shook his shoulder, making Bucky's head jostle from side to side.
"Come on, Bucky. We need to get moving."
Bucky groaned softly. Sam tapped his cheek lightly with his hand, and this finally seemed to work. Bucky's eyes slid open and locked on Sam.
"There you are," Sam said. "We gotta get moving, Buck. How do you feel?"
"Bad," Bucky croaked.
"Think you can drink a few sips of water?"
Bucky shook his head.
"It was kind of a rhetorical question. Why don't you drink a little water, and then we'll get moving?"
Bucky frowned unhappily, but when Sam pushed the uncapped water bottle at him, he accepted it and took a tentative sip. He paused, apparently gauging whether or not he was going to throw up again, then took another.
"Remember, I have some ginger ale, too," Sam said hopefully, unscrewing the top of the bottle and putting it next to Bucky, on the off chance that the water settled well enough that Bucky was willing to try something else. He perched himself on the other side of Bucky, every muscle in his body screaming as he sat down.
Sam resisted the urge to whimper, instead opting for another can of Red Bull. It wouldn't actually help the soreness, but he figured the exhaustion was making everything else feel worse, and it would certainly help with that.
Much to his surprise, after a few more sips of water, Bucky did hesitantly pick up the ginger ale, taking a few drinks of that before making a face and pressing both it and the water back into Sam's hands. Sam sighed and recapped both of them, stuffing the bottles back into his jacket pockets, in case Bucky wanted them later.
"Okay. You ready?"
Bucky shook his head. "No," he answered, sounding half-petulant and half-miserable.
Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath, rubbing his thumb along Bucky's wrist. "You'll be okay," he promised, hoping he sounded more sure than he felt. "Let's go."
