It was like waking up from an impossibly deep, dreamless sleep. There was a sense of floating; a heavy, warm, contentment that felt so alien and yet so affirming at the same time. Time seemed suspended as he enjoyed the unfamiliar sensation of peace. His thoughts were cloudy and thick, full of everything and nothing at the same time.

Slowly, the steady sound of beeping made its way into his consciousness; in time with the dull thump on his heartbeat he felt throughout his body. He finally opened his eyes, staring up at a white hospital wall.

For a while, he just laid there, looking at the soft white ceiling. He felt strangely well rested, but so much so that it was like his body was heavy and didn't want to move. He lay content for a long while, but the fog was beginning to clear from his brain and memories began to creep around the corners of his mind.

Where was he? He swallowed, his mouth dry from sleeping with his chin slightly agape for an indeterminate amount of time. He made a motion to sit up, his underused muscles protesting as he did so. He sucked in air between his teeth as a hot poke in his arm caused him to wince. He had an IV in his right arm and several electrode looking things stuck to his chest with medical tape. His left arm felt heavy and numb.

His heart rate picked up speed, making the EKG increase pace in time. His eyes darted around the room, trying to still the panic rising in his chest. It looked alien to him; white and clean like some kind of a laboratory. The machines surrounding him were smooth and blinking with small bright lights and seemed to be missing any obvious cranks or buttons. Just smooth, rounded edges and a projector-like screen with virtual labels and menus.

Where was he? He had no idea. He tried to rack his brain - he needed to figure out the last thing he remembered. It was surprisingly hard to remember - like it was a million miles away. He had been traveling - deployed. London, yes. No, more than that. Out in the front lines... he remembered the sound of gunfire crackling around him and being thigh deep in mud and rain..

Was he captured? His stomach lurched. The last thing he remembered was doing a mission behind enemies in Italy.

He had to get out of here.

He reached up to remove the IV from his arm when he saw it. It wasn't his arm that reached, it was a horrifying metal prosthetic. Alarmed, his eyes going wide, Bucky screamed and recoiled. He jerked his hand back - and with the sound of an electric whirr the arm jerked backwards with unexpected strength, smashing straight through one of the electric screens. Bucky fell backwards off the bed, his IV ripping out of his arm and causing a few splatters of blood to fly over the stark white bloodsheets. The EKG began a high-pitched whine as his electrodes popped off under his t-shirt and the broken monitor sprayed an array of sparks.

On the floor, Bucky scrambled backwards until his back was against the wall, his right arm clutching at his left shoulder. He took a shuddering breath, his hands shaking, as he dared to look down. The metal monstrosity went over his shoulder, and he fingered the tight scarring around where it met the skin on his chest. The metal seemed to go under it, into his body, then fit over it like a true prosthetic would be.

Nausea rose in his throat as the door to the room burst open. A woman dressed in black military fatigues - her shirt said S.H.I.E.L.D. across the chest - came barreling in, a radio in hand. "He's awake, get Captain Rogers down here now."
tight Rogers? Bucky blinked, starting slack-jawed at the woman, trying to determine if she was a threat. She spoke English at least, and didn't seem to have a European accent. "Where am I?" he barked, his right hand still clutching at the seam in his chest, pulling at the cold metal, hoping the blasted thing would come off.

"Sergeant Barnes," she said soothingly, putting her hands up, showing that she was unarmed. "Please calm down. You're at Avengers Tower in New York City. You're safe."

Bucky didn't know what the hell Avengers Towers was, the woman knew who he was and she spoke English and she didn't have an accent. "Calm down?" he sputtered, flabbergasted. Everything looked different. Shiner, brighter. Smooth lines and clean aesthetics . Even this woman, with her short honey blonde hair that was pulled back and her minimal make up and her futuristic looking radio she still clutched in her hand as she spoke rapidly into it.

"I know things probably don't make sense, but it will. My name is Agent Olsen. Captain - I mean, Steve Rogers will be here soon, if you could just come take a seat."

Even hearing his name made Bucky freeze. Steve was here? "Steve?" he asked, his voice soft and hopeful.

"Yes," she assured him, slipping the radio back her pocket. Bucky slowly let the woman help him back up onto the bed. She patiently tended to his wound were he had ripped out his IV, and turned off the maddening whine of the machines. Bucky mostly sat there, lost in his own head, catching only glimpses of people as they walked by outside his room. He could see them looking in, hovering. He could hear their muffled voices and questions behind the door.

"How did I get here?" he finally asked absently, his eyes still trained on the door.
Agent Olsen looked uneasy. "You really ought to wait until Rogers gets here," she said diplomatically.
"Please," he begged, touching her arm with his human hand and making eye contact. Bucky had puppy dog eyes and an incredible pouting mouth that made it hard to lie to. He could see the emotion in the woman's eye, but she simply shook her head. "No one is supposed debrief you until Rogers comes. " He frowned, but something in his heart fluttered. He was going to see Steve, he thought to himself. That became a mantra he used to keep himself calm as he waited for what seemed like hours.

When the door opened again, Bucky felt his heart jump into his throat. But where he was expecting Steve Rogers - his tiny five and a third foot blonde artist best friend - came an entourage of more strangers. A shorter balding man in a well-fitted suit and an irresistibly charming smile. A woman dressed similarly to Agent Olsen, but with a well-equipped gun holster and a severe expression. And a tall, broad-shouldered blonde Adonis with piercing blue eyes.

Wait.

Those eyes.

Those lips.

The cheekbones.

Bucky felt all the blood drain from his face. "Steve?"