Bucky watched from behind the front door once he tossed the phone and keys at Steve. He had to be sure that he left. "Idiot….I nearly killed him, twice….at least….and he still just stands there." Bucky allowed his own thoughts to drift through his cluttered mind. He was almost done. Any second now the Voice would catch on and rage; the ghosts would come for him…but he felt lighter just knowing the decision was made: Steve would be safe…and the Soldier and Bucky would be gone. The end was in sight.

Steve slowly walked to the truck. He paused at the door and looked back.

"That's it, pal…get in the truck….No, don't look back, damn it…just drive off."

Bucky heard the engine turn over.

"Good."

Steve backed out of the driveway.

"Keep going."

Steve slowly pulled away.

"And done."

He stared after him for a moment, spending a few seconds on regrets; he never told him how he felt about him. Never kissed him…for real. Never thanked him for saving his sorry ass from Hydra.

"Too late now" he mumbled.

"Hopefully he'll find the intel in the tactical room…and the note in the sketch pad." He briefly imagined the look on Steve's face when he finds the page that Bucky wrote on. He hoped he wouldn't be angry or disgusted with him. All it said was:

"I should have told you before now.

I loved you…since the beginning of time.

It was better to die than hurt you again. Forgive me. Bucky."

With resolve…Bucky turned to face his demons.

"What the fuck are you doing, Soldier?

This was not the plan, you piece of shit!

Go after him, there's a bike in the barn, go after him, NOW…

You think you'll rest after this, Soldier…you think you can cross us….you haven't learned a thing have you?"

Bucky ignored the Voice. He walked slowly towards the kitchen as the ghosts of all those he had killed descended on him. They clamored for his attention…for retribution, for revenge.

"You don't deserve to live….you ended our lives…you don't get to be happy and live forever with your fucking boyfriend."

Bucky couldn't agree more.

Exhaustion, self loathing and his desire to protect Steve at all costs drove him forward to stand at the kitchen island and pull a large knife from the drawer. Despite his resolve and how sure he was of his decision, he hesitated before making the cut. He felt tears sting his eyes, but even if he had doubts, the ghosts egged him on with their taunts:

"You promised to pay"

"you promised us our revenge" "….do it"

So he placed the knife point at his wrist and began to slice open his flesh arm. Long ragged cuts along the length of his skin. He's an assassin, a killer, a tormentor; he knew how to kill quickly and efficiently but this target needed to suffer. This kill needed to be drawn out with pain and loathing. This kill was personal.

Tremors near seizure intensity wracked his body, hot tears streamed down his cheeks. He methodically began the torture of the assassin that everyone, except maybe Steve…wanted dead. Screaming voices surrounded him, eerily like the fighting pits. He could feel the cold dead bodies shoved up against him, trapping him, like a crowded subway car stuck outside the station.

The ghost faces grew warped smiles and glowing eyes as they saw their requested revenge unfolding. He could feel their cold hands grab at his body, pulling at his hair and driving their nails into his skin. He wasn't in a rush, he needed to draw this out. It needed to be torture even if he couldn't feel the physical pain any longer, because the dead deserved this entertainment. He needed to make it last. He didn't rush because the monster that inhabited his body needed to suffer for the sake of the dead.

Sam turned back to the computer screens once he knew for certain that Steve had vacated the house and was on his way. He tried to reach Natasha but it went to voicemail so he had to leave her a message…"call me…Barnes lost it…Steve is safe…DO NOT GO OVER THERE….call me."

He settled back into watching this shit-show on the live feed from the house. "Barnes, you traitorous asshole…" he mumbled at the screen as he watched him cross towards the kitchen, he got more pissed as he recalled how Barnes had tossed Steve around the house like a fucking rag doll.

He could hear Barnes talking….to no one.

It was clearly a conversation with no one.

No phone, no comms, no other person was there. It was only Barnes.

BARNES: "Oh, so sorry…I guess I must have misunderstood…"

No one responded.

BARNES: "Really? You're pissed? Oh, ok…I get it. I'll get punished….again…"

No one responded.

BARNES: "Hey, take your best shot, asshole….but….I got a plan that you didn't sanction."

No one responded again.

BARNES: "This will take care of it. No more hurting Steve, no more threats to him….no more Hydra…no more Soldier…no more Bucky."

And with that he was at the kitchen drawer with the knife in his hand sobbing uncontrollably.

Sam froze. He sat there staring at the screen and let the words and images sink in. "Oh my god…he's really psychotic…it wasn't a plot, it isn't Hydra." He still didn't realize the implications of the knife and Bucky's words as he thought about how he would be groveling to Steve for along time about doubting Barnes's mental state. How he was so certain Barnes was up to no good, plotting against Steve.

In that moment of stunned silence his phone rang. It was Natasha.

"What is going on Sam…what do you mean Barnes lost it." It sounded like she was outside, he could hear traffic noise.

"Nat, I was watching the security footage, Barnes attacked Steve…but he left the house, he's hurt but safe…"

"Who's hurt?….who left the house? Security footage? What security footage?…..That wasn't set up, Steve didn't want it."

"Steve, Steve left….he's hurt but ok….Well…after last night I booted it up and routed it to my home computer….I saw what happened. Good thing too since I got to see Barnes…"

"Sam…where is Steve? How hurt? He left Barnes behind? Are you sure?"

Yeah…he's on his way over here…I think his wrist is broken..…Barnes is at the house….we need to do that intervention, Nat… he's psychotic, he's rambling on to himself….I saw him carry on a conversation with no one…like someone was there but no one was there."

"Damn it. I'm going over there…"

NO. He's out of control….you'll get hurt….wait for us." He was pressured and urgent.

"Natasha" Sam's voice changed suddenly; he sounded stunned.

"What? What's wrong? What are you seeing?" A cold feeling washed over her.

"Natasha…..it's Barnes…he's got a knife…he..he's cutting his arm…oh, shit..shit..he's trying to kill himself….now it makes sense…what he said…shit."

"Sam, hang up and call Steve. Tell him to get back there. I'm on my way over there."

She hung up….she was nearly 30 minutes away from the house, no time to drive there ….she dialed the house phone….she ran through her head a host of scenarios of how to talk him down. Maybe, just maybe Barnes would pick up.

Bucky was far gone down the rabbit hole now…there was no more need to hold it together….Steve was safe…the Voice was screaming jibberish at him, and the dead were cheering him on. It was all pathetically glorious, like a Roman spectacle. He made one ragged cut and then another and watched the blood fall, his whole body shuddered uncontrollably.

Somewhere in the background of the screams and jeering crowd the phone rang. Bucky didn't hear it. He never even considered answering the phone on a good day, never mind in the middle of his suicide plot. The first few days of his being home the phone had become a bet between Sam and Natasha…who could get Barnes to answer the phone first. No one had won the bet. Natasha was praying to all the gods that she could win that bet today.

The answering machine beeped and a voice filled the kitchen.

"Barnes! Hey….pick up the phone, it's me, Natasha…we need to talk."

He kept up the slow relentless drag of the knife on his flesh, oblivious to anything but the task at hand.

Barnes! Come on, pal, pick up the phone…please…I need to talk to you. I know you're there, Steve said you never leave the house, you're a hermit." She called him 'pal' the way Steve would have, trying to get into his head.

She counted 1-2-3-4 waiting, then, as she realized "Steve will be destroyed if I can't stop this." She goes to the one thing she thinks he will respond to….she addressed him in Russian:

Barnes, come on listen to me….I bet Sam a 100 dollars you'd answer the phone if I called and I know you hate the guy and would want him to lose, right? So help me out here, answer the phone…guess what…I'll split it with you, ok?

Still no answer. Her head was pounding as she imagined him bleeding out on the kitchen floor.

BARNES! Answer the fucking phone. NOW! That is an ORDER!

Nothing…but what she didn't know was that her demand appeared to be heard….Barnes shuddered at the command.

SOLDAT! Stop what you are doing, NOW and pick up the phone. IMMEDIATELY

He paused in the cutting and stared at his arm, at the blood pooling at his feet. A look of confusion crossed his face.

Barnes, I am NOT going away. I am NOT going to stop talking so the last fucking voice your going to hear is MINE so you might as well get OVER yourself, you fucking selfish bastard and pick up that damn PHONE Natasha's voice cracked as she screamed at him.

The next thing she heard was a click…no words, no voice but she thought she could hear him breathing, long ragged breaths like someone who's exhausted from sobbing. He had picked up the phone.

"Come on, come on, Steve, answer the phone…come on, man answer the phone." Sam was pacing madly in front of the computer…he couldn't watch any longer, the last image burned into his brain was Barnes slicing open his arm, sobbing and talking to no one. Steve's phone just kept going to voicemail. He tried to reach Natasha again but her phone was busy. He decided there was nothing more he could do by watching or waiting so he headed out the door. The place to be now was at the house. However this ended, he would need to be there for Steve. He'd keep trying his cell until he found him.

Barnes….you answered the phone….thank you, good job, soldat!

Bucky had heard her voice, her commands, heard something in her voice that moved his hand to reach for the phone. He was drowning in self loathing but sometimes a drowning man reaches for a rescuer on reflex. Now that she had his attention….well at least she had the phone line open…she had to engage him…stop the cutting..stop the bleeding…something.

Listen to me, Barnes; I know you have a knife, I know you've cut yourself…

No. No I don't she heard him whisper.

She scrambled to find something else, since the direct route was rebuffed right away.

Ok, then, help me out, Barnes "Shit" she thought. Natasha was scrambling now for ideas, anything to stop the cutting, staunch the flow of blood, occupy him until one of them could get to him.

Hey, listen, Steve wanted me to get a grocery list started and since you're on the phone, you can help me, right? "Wow this is as lame as it gets" she grimaced to herself but she was willing to try anything at this point, Barnes' life is on the line. And if Barnes goes, so does Rogers…so lame it is.

No answer from Barnes.

You must be in the kitchen, Right? No answer.

Go to the fridge, soldat….go open the fridge door. Now. she was desperately hoping he would do what she asked.

She thought she heard a noise on the other end of the line. The sound of a door opening.

Bucky had let go of all self control. Once Steve walked away he allowed the dam to be opened to his guilt. He was so very tired of holding on. Tired of fighting. 70 long years of fighting for his life, it wasn't even a righteous fight. He was the evil one. The only good thing he had done was protect Steve. And now he would protect him one last time, save him from the part of him that couldn't fight the voices, couldn't fight the conditioning, the part of him that might one day actually kill Steve.

There was a voice that demanded his attention here at the end. He didn't want to listen to her. She called him 'pal' he heard her say 'Steve'; the Russian words threw him off a bit but he was so used to hearing that language those words were easier to understand at this point.

She said he had a knife and he was cutting himself. He looked down at his hands as if he was someone else. There was a knife in his metal hand, long cuts along his right arm, blood dripping down his clothes onto his bare feet. He didn't feel any pain.

He could hear sobbing…was that the women standing around him in the kitchen? He glanced at his own personal Greek Chorus. Maybe it was him….He couldn't tell anymore…so much crying. He heard the Russian woman's voice say Go to the fridge, open the door. He wasn't capable of knowing why she would have that ridiculous request but there was something about how she told him what to do that he just obeyed her. Her command was easier to obey than the command to kill the Captain so he staggered to the fridge and opened the door.

Soldat, there shouldn't be blood on the food…wrap your arm with the towel Natasha was reaching now…"This is too complex, he'll never do it" she raged in her head.

Soldat, is there blood on your arm?...Answer me, right now. she demanded firmly.

Yes. he whispered.

Get a towel and put pressure on the bleeding.

Bucky stared at his arm. His mind tried to process what the woman had said. Every movement was in slow motion.

Put the knife down first….then put pressure on the bleeding. she shook her head with frustration at herself, trying to make the instructions as simple as possible.

He slowly turned his eyes to his left hand, to the knife. "How did I get that?" he thought. He couldn't remember where it came from.

Report, soldat. What is your status? she tried to be firm.

Functional…not functional. he thought but didn't say.

Did you put pressure on your arm ?

"Yes." But he hadn't.

Good now look at in the fridge…what's on the top shelf. This was ridiculous. Natasha thought. "Suicide prevention through grocery lists" the situation was rapidly becoming absurd on top of tragic.

Bucky stood at the open door to the fridge. The knife was still in his left hand. His right arm was bleeding freely. Not arterial, he was careful about that. He cut enough to harm himself but not enough to die…right away at least. For some god forsaken reason the Red Head was on the phone yammering away at him and demanding he give her a grocery list right in the middle of his grand plan for escape. "Damn I hate her." He vaguely thought. It was hard to have coherent thoughts anymore, what with all the talk going on in his head, the staggering guilt, stupid Steve, puking, food poisoning, now grocery lists. Fuck. No wonder Hydra looked good to him at times. He was so tired of crying.

The top shelf, Barnes, what's on the top shelf.

At first he just stared at the fridge…blinking slowly; before answering "Milk."

Ok, good, good….is it full? Do you need more? Natasha couldn't believe he answered.

"Juice." he rasped out.

Ok, good…I guess…so you need more juice, right? "At least he's talking to me, at least he stopped hurting himself…" she rallies herself.

There is silence for a few moments.

"Barnes?" Soldat? Are you there still?

Nothing. No words. No sounds except that annoying dinging sound a fridge makes when the door has been open too long.

"Barnes, you ok? You still with me?" He's too quiet.

"They're here…. They've come for me…. I have to go now." Barnes rasped out, low and terrified.

"Who? Who's there, who's come for you? Barnes don't you dare hang up. Don't you dare die…I will personally kill you if you die on me. On Steve." "BARNES!"

Natasha heard the phone hit the floor and in the background she could hear what sounded like Barnes dropping to the floor with a thud. She clicked off her phone, started the bike and set out to cover the 30 minute ride to the house in under 10 minutes.

"Sam what is going on? You've called me 12 times in the past 30 minutes?" Steve was gritting his teeth through the pain in his wrist while also driving like a banshee to Sam's place. He had dropped the phone in the truck and didn't hear it ringing the first 11 times.

"Steve, thank god, we gotta get over there. I'm so sorry, it's Barnes, he's hurt, he hurt himself. I called Nat, she's heading over there. I tried to reach you…"

Steve went cold. He nearly lost control of the truck as he tried to understand what Sam had just said. "What do you mean he hurt himself?" Steve was pulling over to keep from driving off the road completely.

"Steve…he…it looked like he tried to …kill himself. I'm sorry."

Steve hit the brakes hard as the truck slid on the shoulder of the road. "What?" "Is he alive? Sam? Is he alive?" he demanded.

"The last I saw of him, he was alive…hurt but alive…I called you to go back but when I couldn't reach you I just started driving…I should be there in about 15 minutes." "Steve just head back to the house…Nat is on her way… I think she called him." "I've already called the medical team…"

Sam's voice faded into the background of his hearing. Bucky might be dead, by his own hand. Steve closed his eyes and tried to reel in his mind for a few seconds. "I left him there alone…what was I thinking…how could I? I abandoned him." Steve ran with his guilt and turned the truck around to speed off headed back to their home.

Steve replayed that last hour at the house again and again as he drove towards Sam's place. But now it took on new meaning. Bucky had thrown him out of the house. "Run" he said, "get out" "I will kill you." He had warned Steve. "Was he protecting me?" "Why kill himself? Why? How could he do this? We finally have a chance to be together and he does this?" There would be only speculation for now, and if Bucky survived, Steve vowed he would ask him what the hell he was thinking.

Bucky was trying hard to listen to the Red Head. It was better than listening to the dead, even if she droned on. The Voice was so angry it had lost some of its power over him especially once he implemented his grand scheme to kill himself and thereby protect Steve, satisfy Howard and Maria and company, and stop all this damn puking and crying. The only flaw in the plan was the dying part. He didn't really want to die. He wanted to escape, that isn't the same as dying.

So, back to listening to the Red Head.

He tried to listen but as he followed her instructions and looked in the fridge he saw something besides the milk, juice and eggs….he saw something wrapped in a cloth; a bloody and worn cloth. He blinked hard to help his blurry eyes focus, the form took shape... and his memory caught up with him. His breath caught in his chest, he let out a low moan. He couldn't say any more to the Russian woman on the phone except "They've come for me." and he dropped the phone. He really didn't want her to hear him sobbing as he dropped to the floor in front of the fridge to stare at the preserved remains.

A ghostly mother knelt next to him, grabbed his hair and shook him hard, anger in her eyes, terror mixed with defiance in her face "You're an animal, pig, you took my children" her hands slipped around his neck as she started to choke him. He didn't resist.

Natasha arrived as the medical team pulled in; Sam must have called them she thought gratefully. She waved them to stay in place until she had cleared the house. Her heart was pounding like it never did when working. She hadn't heard Barnes' voice in 10 minutes; the time it took her to race over the dirt roads to the house. The front door was torn nearly off the hinges; lamps and chairs turned over, a gaping hole in the wall by the front door. She knew the last place Barnes had been was the kitchen so she cautiously headed that way. She had a stun gun; just in case. Sam's voice cracked in the ear comm, she had jammed it in just before she got off the bike. "Steve is 6 minutes out…I am right behind him. Be careful Nat."

"Just don't die Barnes, you idiot." She half way whispered out loud. She resolved to head for the kitchen right away, the stun gun ready, left then right, clearing the living room. She could see the fridge door open, could see blood on the floor but couldn't see what was on the other side of the island in front of the fridge. She inched her way around to take in the image of Barnes' unconscious body slumped on the floor, back against the island, legs spread wide, his long hair ratty and wet. There was blood everywhere. He was surrounded by broken containers with their contents spilled, the knife was close to his left hand, a towel was loosely wrapped around his right forearm. The incessant pinging of the fridge door was deafening. For a moment she closed her eyes and pleaded "You better not be dead, pal."

Natasha stepped forward and knelt next to Barnes, she grabbed his arm and wrapped the towel as tightly as she could. Then she pushed the hair from his face and pressed her fingers to his carotid and whispered "Barnes…you with me?" "Barnes….come on…show me you're with me." Her fingers detected a slow, thready, ragged pulse; she held her breathe to be sure and yes, it was there. A pulse. No response to her questions. No movement, but a pulse.

Steve's heart was pounding through his chest and into his head as he saw the strange but nondescript looking vehicles at the house; Natasha's bike was there as well. He slammed the truck into park; bolted out the door, up the stairs and into the house. He caught sight of Natasha standing by the kitchen island, he ran towards her…"He's alive, Steve, he's alive…" she stepped towards him, trying to stop him from running full force into the scene.

Hot emotions washed over him. "No, no, no" His mind screamed. "Buck how could you?" Steve stopped just short of being able to see his friend. Natasha's hands on his chest. "It's bad, Steve…but he's alive." She stepped aside. Steve took the next two steps to round the corner and find Bucky. He was still propped against the island, his chin was on his chest, long hair covering his face, clearly unresponsive. A woman was kneeling next to him, holding his right arm, there were fresh white bandages around it; two other strangers were in his peripheral vision helping Bucky and the woman. She was quietly giving instructions to her team as they helped her manage their acute response.

The only person Steve could see was Bucky.

"Bucky…how could you…why…" he dropped to his knees in the pool of his friend's blood and stroked his hair. "I'm so sorry, so sorry…" Steve leaned in close and buried his face in Bucky's neck. He never wanted to let go of him again.

"Sir, I'm sorry…but we need to move him, we need to stabilize him." A woman's voice broke through. "Steve, come on, let's get out of their way…." He heard Natasha's voice as she gently tugged at his arm to pull him away. He didn't want to let go but knew he needed to; at least he wasn't going to let him out of his sight. The medical team worked quickly with few words and no drama. Steve tried to help with moving his friend but the stabbing pain in his wrist reminded him of his own injury, so he had to stand aside and allow these three strangers maneuver Bucky onto a backboard, to the stretcher and then to the downstairs bedroom. No hospitals had been one of the major points of discussion when he negotiated the medical coverage a few days earlier, never expecting to use them so soon.

Steve and Natasha stood in the doorway to the bedroom…now equipped like a hospital room, and watched helplessly as the medical team went to work on their unconscious friend. Steve cradled his wrist as Natasha wrapped her arm around his waist. They watched as the team cut away Bucky's clothes but protected his privacy. An IV was started in his right foot; the lead person assessed his body head to toe for other injuries. Blood was wiped away to assure they knew about all the wounds. Quiet instructions were given.

"Sir, can you answer some questions about him, please?" "Sir?" The younger woman was directing her questions to Steve. He shook himself out of staring at Bucky and racing through the million questions in his head.

"Yes…yeah…I can answer..I think." He stammered out.

Does he have any allergies? No.

Is he on any medications? No.

Were drugs or alcohol involved? No.

Steve was fully expecting the first question to be "What's the deal with that metal arm?" But that never actually came up, like this team saw a full metal arm every other day in their line of work.

Then the next question…"Does he have a next of kin?" Steve paused. "No. No one in his family is alive that I know of…. Except me. I'm his next of kin." Steve wasn't sure that was officially in writing somewhere but knew that was the case in reality. All they really had was one another.

Natasha said "Did you hear all that, Sam?" she forgot about Sam being on the comm and on his way. "I get the big picture, yeah…" she heard his voice from behind her. He had pulled in and walked quietly into this chaotic scene to stand with them as they watched the medical personnel work on Barnes.

"You should sit down, buddy…you're looking a bit pale." Sam directed his comments towards Steve. Who indeed was pale. His wrist was throbbing, swollen twice its size and turning a fantastic shade of purple/blue that would have been the envy of any tie-dye fanatic.

"I'm good. It can wait." Steve protested. But that comment caught the attention of the lead medical person and she intervened.

"Sir, you need to take a seat right over there." indicating a chair in the room. "We can assess more than one patient at a time." So Steve sat down and allowed her access to his wrist. "I can at least keep an eye on him this way…" he resolved, as he collapsed in the chair.

Bucky drifted into the darkness. It was soothing. He chose it, made the hard choice to sacrifice himself for the sake of protecting Steve. There were a host of other options but in his world view, this was the only one he had left. He never expected to emerge from the darkness. It should have been a done deal.

His mouth was as dry as the desert he was stuck in with that idiot handler who couldn't read a map a few years ago. He remembered how the man wouldn't let him use the map "You're the asset…you don't read maps…you don't think…you just kill." Well, after 3 days of following that fool around he did kill….he killed the idiot, took the map and got himself the hell out of that god-forsaken desert. "The hell I don't read maps" he scoffed. Even Hydra didn't begrudge him that kill.

"Wait a minute….what the hell? I'm alive? Am I alive?" He wondered to himself. No one in his head answered. "Okay….I didn't really want to die but if I fucked this up and am still alive and those damn voices are still around…..I am so pissed."

There were voices…real voices…somewhere in the house; none of the voices belonged to Steve. He was vaguely sad at not hearing him. He could tell he was at the house; Steve's house…the 2017 version, not Brooklyn….there was a certain way an old farmhouse sounded; he could smell the grass outside, a window was open, he liked that; the voices were talking quietly to one another…not to him. "Oh thank god." He thought. "Just leave me out of it."

He tried to lift his head from the pillow; no success. Frankly he didn't feel inclined to try any further. He could tell he had been sleeping…hard…that was nice. His flesh arm ached distantly; he felt oddly sedated without a care in the world. He did a quick mental assessment of his head and immediate surroundings: no voices, no urge to puke, cry or kill anyone. "Not bad…but where's Steve?" He was too tired to go any further with his musings so he allowed sleep to engulf him. If he had opened his eyes just a crack he would have seen Steve sleeping in the recliner next to his bed.

"What is that smell?" he thought. It was sweet, not like flowers but like sugary things. Tangy sweet. He had piss poor reference points for tangy sweet smells. His catalogue of odors were far more grim. There were those voices again…a woman, a man, another woman? No Steve. "Shit. Hope I didn't kill him." He wondered. He wiggled his metal arm to check for restraints…there were none."Good sign." he thought, "Likely didn't kill anybody then." He slept some more.

His body felt heavy, tired, beyond tired. He could feel an odd sensation in his penis. "What the hell is that?" There was a cold feeling in his right foot….he tried to open his eyes but the lids were so very bogged down. He tried again and finally was able to flutter them open for a few seconds. It was hard to make a good assessment of the room and his situation in such a quick span of time, and factoring in his seriously groggy head, he did a fair job of gathering intel.

He was in the downstairs bedroom, in the bed with the head slightly elevated. An IV bag was hanging at the end of the bed and seemed to be attached to his foot. "I hate doctors." He stated to himself. He didn't see anyone else in the room, there was a recliner there filled with only a folded blanket. The bedroom door was open to the house and the window over his head was open. That was where the tangy sweet smell seemed to be coming from; and the voices again. Not THOSE voices…the ones in his head…but real voices...talking about something; Flowers? Food? Movies?

"Whatever." He thought. He moved his left hand under the sheet to his cock…he had to find out why it felt so weird. "Damn…I really hate doctors…" he had a catheter in place. He knew too much about catheters…"Fucking Hydra…" but this wasn't Hydra. Somehow he just knew that. No paranoia, no fear, no worries. He just knew he was at Steve's house, really exhausted and everyone was letting him sleep. "Good, let's keep it that way." And he drifted off again, not even caring about the IV and catheter or who the hell put them into his body in the first place.

"James? Can you wiggle your toes for me?"

"Toes? I have toes?" he wondered to himself. Then he thought…."of course I have toes…and I can wiggle them…sure…here ya go." He wiggled his toes for the woman's voice. "Ooops…who are you? And why are you asking about my toes?" He thought he was talking out loud but his voice wasn't working just yet.

"Very good, James…now squeeze my fingers" he felt fingers slip into his flesh hand, he squeezed…it felt weak, and hurt a little along his forearm. "No matter." He thought.

"James, open your eyes." The woman's voice was closer now. He thought he could do that but was afraid to see her. "What if she's Hydra?" He thought. "What if this is all a dream and I'm in hell and I open my eyes and it's some pointy-eared devil staring at me." He didn't want to know, not yet. The sleeping was too good and he didn't want it to end yet, so he squeezed them shut. "James, I know you can hear me. Just open your eyes for a moment. My name is Cassie, I have been taking care of you for the last few days. I'd like to check your neurologic signs. So far they have been reasonable. Next thing to check are your eyes."

Her voice was kind but strong. He gave it some thought for a moment.

He squeezed them tighter shut and scrunched up his nose. "Not ready yet." He thought.

Then …."Bucky, open your eyes…it's ok. You're safe."

It was Steve. He sounded…great…amused even…not angry.

Bucky opened his eyes to see Steve standing at the end of the bed.

The sun had set hours earlier. He heard Sam and Natasha settle into their respective nesting spots. The medical team had packed up and headed home. Four days of coverage: IVs, medications, stitches, xrays, catheter in and out (Bucky shuddered at the thought of the out part since he wasn't awake for the IN process.)

And the TALK with Cassie:

"I hate doctors." He said belligerently.

"Oh, well lucky us…I am NOT a doctor." She had said.

"I am a Nurse Practitioner."

"Very funny." He shot back but he liked her after that.

She would be coming back. He agreed to her visits. She told him about the medications he was given. He was confused at first. It was a lot to take in.

"Medications?" He asked with a whole lot of skepticism.

She explained that was likely why the voices went away. He was hoping all he needed was some sleep. She left the pill bottles with Steve and went over the side effects with both of them.

"Great. So I really am crazy." He muttered to Cassie.

"James, we don't use that word." She had kindly explained. "You may have had a stress response that caused hallucinations. Medications can help, so does counseling. But we will need to talk more about it when I come back."

He didn't feel judged when she talked to him.

Bucky was awake and listening to the night sounds coming in through the open window. Moonlight filled the room. The house was quiet. A shadow crossed the room towards the bed. Bucky wasn't afraid. He recognized the shape. Steve crawled into the bed and pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him.

Somewhere far in the back of his mind a voice said:

"You were supposed to die that day."

"You cheated us."

Bucky listened to the voice…and thought about what it said.

"It's not real…..you're not real…I don't have to listen to you anymore…."

"You need to die today."

Bucky was done with this bullshit….done listening to ghosts and voices and his own crazy head.

"Not today, asshole. I ain't dying today." He rasped out loud.

The voice had nothing more to say.

REAPER

Broke down, thought that I would drown
Hope that I've been found, 'fore I hit the ground
Sun rays out the corner of my eye, hey
Saw you weeping, saw you creeping
Saw you sneaking in the shadow's dawn
I feel so strong
Saw you out the corner of my eye
Don't come for me today
I'm feeling good
I'mma savor it
Don't come for me today
I'm feeling good
I remember when You came to take me away
So close I was to heaven's gates
But no baby, no baby, not today
me down
You followed me like the darkest cloud
But no baby, no baby, not today

Sia Furler