"Okay, B, are you ready to walk again?"
Bucky shook his head. He did not think that he was ready to walk again. He wasn't sure that he would ever be ready to walk again.
Sam made a small, horrified, desperate-sounding whimper, and didn't say anything more. Bucky decided on the spot that if walking was what needed to happen to ensure that he never heard his husband make that sound ever again, then walk he would. After a few tries at remembering how to move, he squeezed his arm behind Sam, holding tightly onto his shirt. That made him feel a little bit better - he'd found something else to anchor on, all the better that the thing was Sam.
"Okay," Bucky whispered, even managing to peel his eyes open.
"Okay?" Sam repeated, the disbelief in his voice tinged with a manic sort of hope. "You mean you can walk?"
Bucky nodded. It would be worth it, if Sam sounded like that. At least, it would be worth it if Bucky didn't pass out, or die, or... Bucky thought those were probably the two worst case scenarios.
Sam started tugging Bucky along, and Bucky allowed himself to be led. It was hard work to make sure his feet kept doing the right thing - his legs kept wanting to buckle. He tried to keep his eyes open - he thought that this might make things easier on Sam. He could make sure he wasn't running into anything, at least.
But then, he realized that something weird was starting to happen to the airport itself. Out of the corner of his eye, he started seeing faint, moving shadows, that would flit across the corners of his vision and then disappear. Before long, they were joined by strange, flickering lights that Bucky could only see if he didn't look at head-on.
"Wha's goin' on?" Bucky asked. He realized he was slurring a little. Had he been slurring this whole time? That didn't sound super familiar. But then again, it had been quite a while since he'd really known what was happening.
"What do you mean?" Sam asked, continuing to walk even as he spoke.
"The…." Bucky wasn't really sure how to explain what he was seeing. Also, he wasn't sure why Sam didn't immediately know what he was talking about. Wasn't it obvious? There were flickering lights and dancing shadows everywhere.
It then occurred to Bucky that there was a decent chance that he was hallucinating. He'd never hallucinated on sleeping pills before, but then again, he'd never had to wake up and walk through a crowded airport full of bright lights and loud noises. It was sensory hell. And how was his brain supposed to process what was real and what was not if he was stuck in sensory hell?
There was a whooshing sound in his ears, something sort of similar to the way wind sounded going through a tunnel. When had that started? In some ways, it was nice - airports were just so noisy. The whistling sound blocked out the constantly crackling loudspeaker. The faint sound of children yelling in the distance, the nearly imperceptible rumble as each plane took off. But he was pretty sure the whooshing sound wasn't real either. So as much as it was helping, he knew that it was...not good to be hallucinating.
Also, if Sam tried to speak to him, Bucky might not be able to hear. And that wouldn't be good at all.
Bucky's vision seemed to have taken on a funny tinge. Everything looked too bright. Or maybe just some things looked too bright. It looked like a strange filter had been slapped over his eyes. It was making it hard to tell how far away everything was.
Was Bucky still walking? So much was happening, and keeping his legs moving suddenly seemed like the most exhausting job in the world. Bucky grabbed his fistful of Sam's shirt a little tighter, and tried to focus on stepping at the same time that Sam did. It was nice to feel Sam breathing against his chest.
Bucky must have been walking for hours now. He felt somehow even more exhausted, and the strange flickers were coming closer, edging out of the corners of his eyes into the center of his field of vision. Bucky still thought that he was probably hallucinating, but that didn't really matter. Every time he caught a flash of movement, his heart crept into his throat and he went on high alert, trying to decipher the hidden threat. He wanted to close his eyes, but if he did that, then he was going to trip, or make Sam stop walking, and then Sam would be sad.
For a while, this was enough to keep Bucky going. And then, in an instant, it wasn't anymore. Bucky didn't even really think about it. He just...stopped walking.
"B?"
That was Sam. Bucky could tell that much at least, thankfully without opening his eyes. He was still holding onto the back of Sam's shirt, and to his slight surprise, his other hand seemed to be clamped around Sam's arm.
"We have to keep going," Sam said, trying to walk forward. Bucky stayed where he was.
"Bucky, please." Sam kept trying to walk. Bucky dimly wondered why he wasn't moving, and then realized that it was probably because Bucky was holding onto him, and Bucky was certainly not moving. He wondered if he should be.
Bucky opened his mouth to ask Sam if he should be walking, and realized abruptly that he felt nauseous again. That was a wonderful reason not to be moving, in his opinion.
"Please, baby, we gotta keep going," Sam said, sounding shaky and upset.
"Gonna throw up," Bucky finally managed to mumble.
"There aren't any trash cans here," Sam answered, a frantic tinge creeping into his voice. "Please keep walking, I'll find you a trash can or a bathroom-"
Bucky had shared all that he could. He just tightened his grip on Sam, burrowing his face deeper into Sam's shoulder.
Sam was shaking. Bucky thought it was probably the caffeine, until Sam spoke again and his voice was thick with tears.
"Bucky, please, please keep walking, I'm gonna find some way to fix all of this, but...but I need you to keep walking for me."
Bucky whimpered softly. He didn't want Sam to be crying, in fact he would do anything within his power to make it so that Sam never cried again. Unfortunately, it seemed that right now, that would involve moving, and that was something that Bucky was simply unable to do.
Sam stood there in the middle of the airport hallway, Bucky's ballcap digging heavily into his shoulder, Bucky's metal fingers leaving unintentional bruises on his arm, and cried quietly for a few seconds. He didn't care anymore if it was embarrassing. Clearly, if anyone in this entire goddamn airport had noticed their existence, someone would have tried to help by now. Sam was almost at the point where he would be willing to ask for help, and that almost never happened.
Bucky was taller than Sam, and also stronger. That, combined with the metal arm, also meant that he was heavier. Sam had put on muscle since becoming Captain America, but Bucky still had probably fifty pounds on him.
There were some advantages to that, of course. Namely, that if Sam were hurt or sick or unconscious, Bucky could support him without too much trouble. He could even carry him if he needed to. That had come in handy more than once. In fact, it had probably saved Sam's life on several occasions.
But there was, of course, a flip side. Sam could never carry Bucky for any distance, no matter how high the stakes were. He had a tough time walking if Bucky even leaned too much of his weight on him. Even now, when Bucky was simply tipped against his shoulder, Sam was having a hard time staying upright. He knew it was partially a product of his own fatigue, and probably the caffeine, but he couldn't seem to get his legs to stop shaking, and his back was screaming at him.
But there was another problem too. Which was that if Bucky decided to stop moving, even if it was because he was out of it, or didn't understand what was happening, or needed help remembering to walk, there wasn't much that Sam could do. Sam couldn't make him move - Bucky was just too much bigger and stronger. Especially in a situation like this one, where Sam was trying to balance both Bucky's total deadweight and all of their luggage.
Bucky mumbled something that was too quiet for Sam to make out.
"What was that?" Sam asked. He was dreading the answer. He thought there was a fair chance this conversation was going to end up with Bucky throwing up on the floor of the airport again.
"I want to go home," Bucky whispered.
"Oh god, I know," Sam whispered. "But we can't, B. We're still in Romania. The next flight will take us home, but we...we need to find it. Then, once we get on the plane, you can sleep. And when you wake up, we'll be home."
Bucky whimpered softly. "That's-"
"I know," Sam said soothingly. "I know."
"Wanna sit down," Bucky breathed into Sam's shoulder. Sam felt metal fingers tighten on his arm, and he winced. Bucky clearly would not be moving anywhere that wasn't the floor.
"Okay," Sam said, continuing to stand frozen in the middle of the terminal. Bucky was just too difficult for Sam to maneuver completely on his own, even without the addition of the luggage and the five Red Bulls that Sam was beginning to accept had been a terrible idea.
Sam stood there for another minute or so, hearing his own breath rush in and out of his ears, feeling his fingers tremble on Bucky's shoulder as he struggled to focus. Finally, he managed to take the luggage in one hand, supporting Bucky with the other. He didn't know when it had gotten so hard - he'd been making his way through the airport just fine until now, and he didn't think he could blame everything on Bucky's sudden deadweight.
"We're gonna sit down," Sam told Bucky. The only response he got was a slow blink from beneath the brim of the ballcap, which could mean anything.
"Can you walk for me?" Sam asked, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt. Bucky just continued to blink vaguely at him, and Sam decided that was probably the best he was going to get.
Sam started moving towards a small hallway off the main thoroughfare, praying that Bucky would follow. If Bucky didn't move on his own, Sam certainly wasn't going to be able to move him.
Thankfully, Bucky stumbled along beside him, tripping over his own feet with every step, but moving. Sam wrapped his arm tighter around Bucky's shoulders, planting an exhausted, thankful kiss on his cheek. Bucky didn't seem to notice.
They made it to the hallway, which seemed to be some kind of maintenance access corridor. They probably weren't supposed to be there, but that was pretty much a non-factor at this point. Sam let the luggage crash to the floor, the pain in his back and arms abating ever so slightly with the lessened weight.
Beside him, Bucky flinched at the noise, grabbing onto Sam's side tighter. He squeezed his eyes shut, clearly trying to block out the stimulation.
"Oh god, I'm sorry, Buck," Sam said miserably, staring at the fallen luggage. "I...I won't do it again."
Bucky didn't respond. Slowly, Sam lowered himself and Bucky to the ground, ignoring the pain in his back. As soon as they were seated, Bucky wrapped himself around Sam's torso, one hand clutching at the back of Sam's shirt and the other slung across his chest. He turned his face into Sam's shoulder, pushing the baseball cap up and off his head.
"We have three hours now," Sam said shakily. "Our flight was delayed. So this...this is fine. We can just rest here for a little while. As long as you need. Until you start feeling better."
Bucky grabbed the back of Sam's shirt a little tighter. Sam couldn't tell if it was in acknowledgement of what Sam had said, or if he was just seeking comfort.
Sam gave Bucky a tentative pat on the back. Bucky generally liked physical contact, granted only from Sam, but sometimes, when he was particularly stressed, he could get overstimulated enough that touch could become unpleasant. Bucky had tried to explain it to Sam before - he said that what normally felt like a gentle touch, comforting touch suddenly made his nerve endings feel like they were on fire. If Sam wasn't sure if touch would be welcome, he would normally just ask. However, right now he didn't think Bucky would even understand the question, let alone be able to answer it.
Bucky leaned into the physical contact, relaxing slightly into Sam's chest. That was answer enough. Sam started rubbing Bucky's back. He hoped this helped a little - Bucky sometimes found rhythmic motions soothing when he was having a tough time.
Sam could still feel how tense Bucky's back and shoulders were, even through his jacket. Most of Sam didn't want Bucky to fall asleep, but a small part of him hoped that he would. That might make his muscles unknot a little. And anyways, they did have three hours.
Sam had no complaints about sitting here and resting for a minute. In fact, he thought if they sat here for too long, he may fall asleep himself. The caffeine was making everything feel sort of distant, but he wouldn't exactly say it was making him feel less tired anymore. It was just making him feel worse.
"Don't fall asleep," Sam whispered. He wasn't sure if he was talking to himself, or to Bucky. "Don't fall asleep. Need to...need to-"
After a minute, Sam realized that his hand was shaking. Not just shaking, but jittering up and down, so he wasn't sure if he was really rubbing Bucky's back or just letting his hand tremble against it. That was kind of concerning, he thought. It would probably make it awfully hard to move, when the time did come for that. But there wasn't exactly much that could be done at this point.
Bucky suddenly tensed up. Then he pushed himself off of Sam, faster than Sam had thought he could move at this point, and lurched forward.
"Bucky, what…?" It was at this point that Sam really noticed how pale and ill Bucky looked. His face was waxy, his eyes half-lidded and still tinged with red. He braced himself on the ground with his metal hand, while his other hand wrapped carefully around his stomach. He was shaking worse than Sam was.
"Gonna throw up," Bucky said, by way of explanation.
He followed up this statement by gagging.
"Fuck," Sam mumbled. He plunged shaking hands into his pockets, but the bag Bucky had been using was gone.
Bucky gagged again, and Sam looked up just in time to see his husband vomit on the floor. Bucky moaned and tipped forward, and Sam shot out a trembling hand to stop him. He opened his mouth to tell Bucky that it was okay, but he made the mistake of glancing at the floor and his own stomach twisted, forcing bile into his throat.
Before Sam even knew what was happening, he was coughing about five Red Bulls onto the airport floor, his throat and nose burning. When he was done, Sam stayed kneeling where he was, staring numbly at the floor and telling himself that the prickling in his eyes was from throwing up.
Beside him, Bucky stirred weakly, moving under Sam's supporting hand. "Sam?" he asked, sounding confused and out of it, but also somehow concerned.
Sam sat back, automatically petting Bucky's shoulder and hoping that would calm him down some while Sam struggled to pull himself together. His gaze returned to the floor in front of him, and something finally became clear that should have been obvious a long time ago.
"We're getting a hotel," Sam murmured, sort of trying out the idea aloud, in case it sounded stupid once he said it. He hadn't really considered that a valid option because Bucky didn't always do well sleeping in strange places, especially when he'd expected to be in his own bed instead. Besides, he'd thought the layover would be a short one, just a quick dash to the new gate followed by blissful sleep for Bucky. He hadn't counted on being trapped in a new Hell dimension, and he thought if they had to wait another three hours, that would be torture for Bucky.
And, if Sam was being completely honest with himself, he also really needed sleep at this point. The caffeine had worked for a while, but now Sam was feeling shaky and sick and hardly any less tired, and as he tried to think back he was pretty sure he'd been up for a good thirty hours by now. If they didn't get this solved soon, Sam was almost as likely to pass out as Bucky was.
By now, Sam had convinced himself that getting a hotel was their best - and only - option. They would catch a flight out tomorrow, once they were somewhat recovered. Now all that remained was to convince Bucky.
"Hey, Buck," Sam said, slightly alarmed at how much his voice was shaking. He cleared his throat, trying to force himself to sound less exhausted and out of control. "Umm, I think we need to get a hotel. We need to sleep."
Bucky blinked a few times, then narrowed his eyes. "Hotel?"
"Yeah," Sam said desperately. "I...I dunno when our flight is gonna be, but it's gonna take too long, and I...I don't think I can do this much longer. I think we have to get some sleep."
Bucky seemed to perk up slightly at the mention of sleep. "In a hotel?"
"Yeah?" Sam said warily.
"Okay," Bucky agreed, melting into Sam's side. "Sleep."
"We gotta get to a taxi first though," Sam said. "We can't just sleep in the airport."
"Ugh," Bucky whispered.
"I know," Sam said, rubbing his husband's shoulder. "I don't really want to move anymore either. But it'll feel so much better to be in a bed. I promise."
Bucky sighed, but he didn't sound quite as upset as before.
"Let's get up," Sam said. He was hoping announcing it beforehand would make it sound slightly less terrible. It didn't.
"Ugh," Bucky said again.
Sam used the wall to push himself shakily to his feet, then reached down to offer a hand to Bucky. Bucky looked like he would prefer to never move again, but Sam supposed getting a good night's sleep in a hotel was the next best thing to that.
Also, Sam figured Bucky couldn't possibly have anything left in his stomach. So that was also one less thing for them to worry about.
Bucky reluctantly extended a hand up, and allowed Sam to tug him to his feet. The hallucinations seemed to have mostly stopped, thankfully, and now Bucky honestly seemed more tired than anything. Sam could tell he was trying hard to focus on Sam, but his eyes kept drifting closed, and his chin would hit his chest with a small jerk.
"Ground transport, ground transport," Sam whispered to himself. He wasn't asking Bucky for help - he wasn't even really talking to Bucky. He was just trying to make sure he stayed focused on the task at hand. His brain didn't seem to be working very well.
Locating the ground transport turned out to be easier than finding the proper gate for his plane. The sign had a little picture of a car next to it, so he didn't need to rely on Google Translate at all.
"See that, B," Sam said, jostling his husband awake. "We just have to follow these signs. And then we'll get to a taxi."
Sam managed to gather up their luggage - it seemed somehow easier now that he knew he wouldn't need to do it for as long. The promise of a bed was the only thing that had let him forget the pain in his back and shoulders.
Bucky, however, seemed to be having the exact opposite problem. Now that he knew he wouldn't have to make it all the way to the next flight, he seemed to have given up on doing much of anything. It was all Sam could manage to get him to move in a more or less forward direction.
But even with Bucky moving at more or less a snail's pace, it only took them about twenty minutes to get outside the airport. Sam dropped the bags with a relieved sigh, and Bucky dropped to the ground beside them. Sam placed one hand on the top of Bucky's over-gelled hair and began waving for a taxi.
Now that Sam had given up on actually boarding the plane and was, in fact, trying to leave the airport, the Universe no longer seemed to be actively working against him. A taxi pulled up within a few minutes, and the driver spoke at least enough English to understand when Sam asked for a hotel. He even got out of the car to help Sam with Bucky's bags, a favor that Sam was honestly glad to accept at this point.
By the time Sam heaved Bucky into the backseat, he was so relieved that he was about ready to cry again. But now that they were on their way to a hotel, to a bed, he'd apparently regained enough of his mental reserves to keep himself together.
Sam climbed into the back next to Bucky, and the taxi driver told Sam that he was bringing them to a nice, comfortable hotel right near the airport, so they could make it back quickly the next morning. Sam thanked him profusely as Bucky face-planted into his shoulder, his full body weight falling into Sam's side.
Now that they were out of the airport, it barely even hurt. Sam squeezed an arm behind Bucky, putting it around his shoulders and pulling him closer. Bucky made a nearly-contented sound, burrowing a bit deeper into Sam's shoulder. He was asleep within seconds.
Sam knew that he probably shouldn't be letting Bucky fall asleep before they reached the hotel, because he'd have to wake him up when he got there, and Bucky wouldn't want to wake up, and it might make things harder on both of them. Still, he didn't have the heart. Bucky had stayed awake for so long, even when he was too out of it to understand any reason other than "Sam asked me to." Sam could let him sleep. Besides, Bucky was really cute when he was sleeping, all long lashes, quiet snores,
Sam smiled at him, then tried to rub the dryness out of his eyes. He closed them for a few seconds, just to make the itchy feeling go away.
Sam woke with a start as the taxi jolted to a stop in front of the hotel. Bucky slipped slowly off his shoulder, crashing heavily into Sam's lap. Sam took a sharp breath as the full weight of Bucky's torso crushed his leg, but Bucky didn't seem to wake up at all.
"We're here," the taxi driver said brightly.
"Thank you," Sam responded, trying not to sound too tired, or resentful, or confused, or anything other than extremely grateful to the man for getting them to their destination. The taxi driver beamed at him - so Sam must have done something right - and went to pull open the trunk to get their bags. Sam turned his attention to trying to wake Bucky.
Bucky wasn't quite so difficult to rouse this time - Sam thought there was a chance, if he was lucky, that the sleeping pills were starting to work their way through his system. He would still need sleep, obviously, but hopefully he would wake up feeling refreshed instead of woozy and hungover.
Bucky didn't say anything after Sam woke him up, just hauled himself unsteadily to his feet and moved to the curb, swaying slightly as he stood. Sam thanked the taxi driver, took their bags, and wrapped a stabilizing arm around Bucky.
Sam hardly remembered asking for a room. He sort of remembered giving someone his card, and being handed a key. He somehow managed to get them both to the correct room, although at this point, he wasn't even sure how. Bucky still hadn't said anything - he just followed Sam around with a head lolling on his shoulder.
Turning the key in the lock seemed to take an eternity. Time was slowing down and stretching out around Sam, and he thought if he couldn't get into this room in about the next thirty seconds, he wasn't going to be able to get into the room at all.
But the key finally turned, and they both staggered inside. Bucky immediately went for the bed, flopping facedown onto it with a soft sigh.
"Hey," Sam whispered. "Do you want pajamas?"
Bucky managed to roll over in response, and he eyed Sam disdainfully.
"Come on, Buck," Sam managed. "At least brush your teeth."
Bucky's eyes drifted closed. Sam stumbled to him and unlaced his boots, tugging them off and letting them tumble to the floor. Then, he managed to wrench the blanket from out beneath Bucky's body. Hotels could be cold at night. Even if Bucky didn't think he wanted the blanket now, Sam wouldn't want him to get cold.
Sam crawled in beside Bucky, slinging an arm over him. He'd though Bucky was already deeply asleep, but when Sam settled next to him, he wormed in a little closer.
"Night, Buck," Sam whispered. Then he closed his eyes, and was asleep.
