{ 7. Standing at the Bridge }

"My friends are so distressed,

And standing on the brink of emptiness,

No words I know of to express,

This emptiness,

I love all of you,

Hurt by the cold,

So hard and lonely too,

When you don't know yourself"

-'My Friends', Red Hot Chili Peppers

Tony saw the 6PM traffic report and decided to call it a night. They wouldn't be getting much further anyway. It wasn't hard to find a scummy motel in this town, and this was no doubt the worst yet. The door wobbled on its hinges, which Steve considered a massive security issue and wedged a metal folding chair under the knob.

The walls were covered in water stains, scuffs and scratches. The bed sheets smelled like BO and weed, and the carpet was threadbare in places. "How can they justify charging anyone to stay in this hole?" Tony sounded exasperated. "God, they ought to pay us to stay here!"

Steve said, "It's just for tonight. Let's take off early tomorrow, put as much distance between us and our 'friends' as possible."

The motel was at least located in a populated urban area, which made it harder for enemy agents to roll up and start trouble. Didn't stop them, but made it harder, and that was the best the crew could ask for right now. There were bars on the windows of their room. Steve wasn't sure if he should be concerned or grateful.

Sam called in some Chinese food delivery and they spread the feast out on the wobbly little dining table. Bucky eyeballed them enviously as he sipped his meal replacement drink. Steve picked up some different brands after the Pizza Incident, hoping he might enjoy them more. Still tasted like chalk and bullshit.

After his drink, Bucky went straight to bed. He slept a lot these days. He moved sluggishly, didn't display the strength he used to. Steve thought he was looking a little thin, a little hollow around the eyes. Settling beside him on the bed, Steve reclined with his phone in hand and tapped 'play' on a video. A familiar theme song began to play, and at this Bucky's eyes opened. He rolled towards Steve and watched The Adventures of Captain America on the screen.

The hours passed and the sun gave way to darkness. The city was loud enough, and there was no way they could sleep through Steve's silly old show on top of it. Tony tossed a pair of earbuds to Bucky and he stayed up watching, long after the others had turned in for the night.

xXxXxXx

Steve was a light sleeper. Maybe it was his time in the military that forced him to be vigilant even in sleep, or maybe it was his keen hearing that picked up every little noise that others couldn't. Either way, a sound from the bathroom woke him up as Sam and Tony slumbered on. Steve blinked as his eyes adjusted to darkness, a bit of light from a streetlamp beaming in through the blinds.

His phone was lying on the rumpled sheets where Bucky wasn't, earbuds still plugged in. He picked it up and squeezed the button on the side. Out of battery. Should have left it plugged in for Bucky, he thought groggily as he rose to his feet. Another noise came from behind the bathroom door, a wet cough. A sputter. A flush.

Bucky was sick. Nothing new there, but—

Steve turned, furrowing his brow when he noticed the garbage all over the floor. Chinese takeout boxes, torn open and strewn about. Steve picked one up and turned it over, then another. Every one licked clean. Steve let out a groan and palmed at his face. Bucky did not dig their leftovers out of the trash and eat them…Except he totally did, and now he was paying the price.

Why? Why was he doing this now?

Quietly toeing his way to the bathroom, Steve heard the faucet running on the other side of the door. He tapped his knuckles on the wood and whispered, "Bucky? Are you okay?"

No answer.

"I'm coming in, okay?" He warned, then slowly turned the knob and peeked inside. There sat Bucky, slumped against the counter in a vomit-stained shirt. It was the stupid "America: Love it or Leave it" shirt, so Steve couldn't bring himself to care.

He did care about his poor friend, however, so he stepped in to pull the dirty thing off his body, tossing it carelessly in the corner. Bucky's hair was stringy, face pale and beaded with sweat. He was quivering a bit and his teeth faintly clattered together. Steve kneeled in front of him, expression sagging in concern.

"Why did you eat that stuff? Bucky, it was in the trash, you can't just…Y-you know better. You have to know better than this." The blond man shook his head slightly in disbelief. He thought Bucky was doing better and now he was suddenly trying to hurt himself. Why? Why?

"Ah—" Bucky choked out a sound and Steve was sure he'd vomit again. He didn't. The brunet swallowed and forced another sound, "Ahm—" Steve's brow's lowered.

"What is it, Buck?" he urged.

"Nnng…"

Bucky's face screwed up in frustration. He brought his hand up and gestured vaguely to his chest. "Ahmnng. Ahmd'nnng!" he groaned laboriously, as if his mouth was full of glue on top of the world's worst stutter. Steve listened closely, wearing a hopelessly confused look on his face as he shook his head.

"I'm sorry," Steve frowned apologetically. "I'm sorry, Pal, I can't—"

"Dynnng! Ahm dynnng!" Bucky howled, pounding his fist on his chest as if the harder he hit himself, the more Steve would understand. Tears welled in his eyes and his voice was breaking down into sobs. "Dynnng! Dynnng, dynnng, I die! I die! I'm dying!"

Steve felt his chest cave in. Terror seized him by the gut, his jaw fell slack and silent. Bucky repeated through his sobs, "I'm dying, dying, I'm dying…!" as he made more vague gestures with his hand, one like a stabbing-motion to his gut, then one like putting something into his mouth.

Steve shook his head. He wasn't sure he ever stopped shaking it since he walked in here. "No," he said, planting his hands firmly on Bucky's shoulders, "no, no, you're not dying. You're okay, Buddy. You just got a bellyache, we'll—"

"Uuugh!" The brunet violently shook his head in disagreement. He made another frantic eating-gesture, then tapped his metal shoulder.

Bucky looked directly into Steve's eyes and told him, "Dying!" The look in his eyes conveyed that he was not fucking around and Steve needed to shut up and take him seriously. Steve knew that look. Bucky never used it often in the past, but when he did, that's how he knew things were seriously dire.

A moment of silence passed. Silent, except for Bucky's ragged breathing. Steve was about to speak, then he heard the door creak behind him and turned his head with a start. Tony and Sam peeked through the doorway, looking exhausted and fearful and probably a lot of other emotions Steve couldn't identify right now.

"What's going on? Is he okay?" queried Sam, jutting his chin toward Bucky. Steve's mouth hung open for a second, and all he could manage was an uncertain croak. Bucky answered for him, voice echoing off the tiles, "I'm dying!"

Then Tony and Sam were just as frozen as Steve was. Bucky's sobs rattled his whole body and he couldn't have looked more alone in that tiny room with three other people. Steve felt like he was being sucked into a vortex of fury and heartbreak, and all he could do was reach out and pull Bucky into his arms.

Bucky leaned into him, soaking the shoulder of his t-shirt with tears and snot. He smelled like a garbage-fire, felt shaky and clammy. Christ, maybe he was dying, Steve thought. Tony stepped forward and spoke cautiously, phone recording in his hand, "Maybe I'm wrong, but…I think we're at that bridge, Rogers. You wanna talk about crossing it now?"

Steve closed his eyes and pulled Bucky in tighter. No, he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to even think about it. He wanted to burn that fucking bridge. But here they were, standing before it, and Bucky needed him to make a call.

Steve rose to his feet, pulling the brunet up with him. Bucky's legs quaked and he wrapped his arm around Steve's shoulder, using him for support. He belched and a bit of bile splattered on the floor. Steve cringed and let out a deep sigh. What a fucking nightmare this was.

He guided Bucky to sit on the edge of the tub, soaked a rag before wringing it out, and began wiping the sweat and grime from him as he said, "I haven't been giving him enough credit. He knows what he needs, he was trying to tell me, and I didn't listen. He's been starving to death this whole time, ever since we left the facility."

"Hm," Sam slowly nodded, "bet that's why he tried raging on that pizza. And, uh…Those takeout boxes out there, did he…?"

Steve sighed, "Yeah, those too. He's desperate. He was just trying to keep himself alive. God, Bucky, I'm so sorry…" Tony leaned against the wall, keeping his phone steadily focused on Bucky. He looked half-alive as Steve wiped him down.

"So liquids aren't sustaining him," said Tony, "and he rejects solids completely. What the hell was S.H.I.E.L.D feeding him?"

"Intravenous nourishment?" suggested Sam. Steve mentioned thoughtfully,

"Bucky drew feeding tubes. That's a memory. That means he can keep food down, we're just not giving him the right food. We need to find out what they fed him."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "So, what? You wanna break into that facility again and grab some intel? 'Cause I think their security's gonna be a lot beefier this time around and we're a little short on hands." Steve tossed the damp rag on the counter and replied,

"We can't. But…" He paused, chewing his lip in thought. "What if someone else could? They wouldn't even have to breach the facility—not if they were tech-savvy. Bucky's files have to be on a server or something, right?"

Tony shrugged. "Most likely. But I can't hack into anything from here, not with that ancient laptop and public Wi-fi."

"I don't expect you to," said Steve. "I mean someone like…I don't know. Natasha?"

"Natasha? Yeah, good luck." Sam rolled his eyes. "You know how she feels about this whole thing. She thinks Barnes is unsalvageable, like he's due to go rogue or something. She hates him."

"But she likes Pepper!" Tony blurted, expression beaming like he just had an epiphany. "I mean, everyone likes Pepper because she's an angel on Earth, but—If we can convince Pepper to convince Natasha to convince S.H.I.E.L.D to…" He trailed off, twirling his finger around. "You know what I'm getting at. My awesome girlfriend can make this work, is what I'm saying."

The weight on Steve's chest lifted ever so slightly. There was hope. He had a plan, something to hold on to. "You think Natasha can be convinced?" He asked. "Because Sam's…Not wrong. I thought she was going to turn us in when we asked her for help on this mission. She said she doesn't trust Bucky, she thinks he's dangerous."

Tony stopped the recording and waggled his phone in the air. "She might change her tune when she sees Hydra's Greatest Assassin half-naked in a motel bathroom, crying over a puddle of his own filth. Even Natasha has a heart, believe that shit or not."

xXxXxXx

It was a long night to say the least, and the crew was lagging behind that morning. They were out the door hours passed their planned departure but at least they were on the road now, the sky was clear, and Bucky was still alive. Against the odds, they were all still alive.

Steve didn't feel very alive as he drove them across Missouri. He was exhausted. Anxious. Vaguely depressed. He was running on dreams, chasing a little ray of hope that everything was going to be okay and he wouldn't have to surrender his best friend to S.H.I.E.L.D just to keep him alive. He knew Bucky would rather die, but nobody wanted that—not even his enemies.

At the moment, Bucky was sleeping in the back of the van and using Steve's bag as a pillow. It had a vibranium shield inside and had to be hard as a rock, but that was what he chose. Sam offered to do a word jumble with him and Bucky opted to sleep instead, because sleeping was like being dead without dying. It made everything not hurt, kind of.

And right now, Bucky was feeling a ravenous, intense kind of hunger he hadn't felt since the Great Depression, which he remembered in body but not in mind. He remembered that hunger—true hunger, when the next meal was not guaranteed—was the worst feeling in the world. Worse than bullet wounds, than electroshocks and those operations where he lie wide awake on the table as the white coats cut his body open. Fuck those things, but fuck hunger more.

His new handlers were not maintaining him properly. His previous handlers were much more competent. He was going to die. That was okay. He still liked these handlers better.

But if he died, he wouldn't see Steve anymore. Steve was his favorite and he was supposed to follow him. He thinks he might have known him once before, a very long time ago, during a very old mission that he'd long since forgotten. They kept doing shit to his head, his previous handlers did. Doing shit that made him forget things he didn't want to forget. He used to know things, he knows that he knew. But what did he know?

He couldn't let himself die, Bucky decided. He was supposed to follow Steve. That was the mission.

xXxXxXx