Steve isn't sure what he's looking at or what is tickling his face until he blinks away the remnants of sleep. His arm secures its hold around the warm body and Steve buries his face in the dark hair, inhaling the scent of shampoo and something else that must be James. The man mumbles something about an eel eating his shoe and Steve has to hold in a laugh.
The windows are darkened but there is still some light for Steve to discern the furniture. If it were any other day, Steve would be getting out of bed, but this morning is different.
James moves in Steve's arms, restless, and Steve whispers words he hopes are soothing. He settles after a few minutes, tension leaving his body and Steve can sense the muscles unclenching and leaning against Steve's chest.
The warmth under the blankets is enticing and Steve doesn't want to move from his position even though his right arm feels numb from spending the night lying on it. Steve rubs James' arm, making sure it doesn't get cold. He covers it with his own and James shifts to his back. Steve keeps them flush together and James lets out a peaceful sigh.
Steve had expected the sleeping arrangement to help but he hadn't got his hopes up. Looking at James' slack face, devoid of any stress lines, Steve realizes how much this has actually helped James. His fingers graze the parts of James' face that tend to wrinkle with stress, now smooth. What Steve wants to see again are the laugh lines that appear around James' eyes when he smiles.
James scrunches his nose as an effect of fingers tickling his face and Steve burrows his hand back under the blankets. He settles it around James' middle and decides that he can sleep for a few more hours.
The second time he wakes up isn't that pleasant. Steve finds himself pinned on his back with a heavy weight pushing down on his chest.
"Steve," someone hisses and Steve needs a moment to identify the voice.
He blinks up at the wide back that's in front of him.
"What-what is going on?" Steve questions his reality. The person doesn't move from his spot. Steve blinks away the cobwebs of sleep and finally recognizes James.
"You tell me," Natasha fires back. Steve can't see her because James is positioned between the two of them.
Steve sits up on the bed, James getting his weight off Steve's chest and shuffling forward on the bed. Steve rubs at his eyes. "What time is it?" There is light streaming in the bedroom, windows not dark anymore.
"Ten," answers a different voice. Tony.
Steve frowns; what is everyone doing here? He makes to move around James when the man himself raises his hand and pushes Steve back. Steve tumbles backwards on the bed, a silly image of a turtle on its back.
"What…" he huffs out.
"He's been on guard dog mode since we woke him," Tony says though it doesn't clear anything up.
"Don't call him a dog," Steve snarls before he can think his words over. It leaves the room in silence.
Steve climbs to his knees and inspects the situation he's woken up to. His attention is first drawn to James. The man is crouching on the bed, muscles visibly taut under his clothes and body ready to spring into action. Steve wants to see his face, read his expression and understand why he's behaving like this. Who exactly does he identify as the enemy in this situation?
Past James is Natasha, Tony, and Barton, as well. Nat's eyes are trained on Steve but he knows she's vigilant of James. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest and Steve sees the flexed muscles the same way he's aware of the anger flashing in her eyes. On the other hand, Barton and Tony are attentive to James and aren't hiding it. Steve believes Tony has already activated one of his armors to aid them if anything were to happen.
"What are you doing here?" He keeps his voice calm.
"What are you doing here?"
Steve doesn't know what she means by that. "I live here, this is my apartment."
Steve shuffles slowly and tries not to jolt the bed too much until he's on James' right side. His long hair is obscuring part of his face but Steve can see the concentrated expression—it reminds him too much of the times he's had fought the Soldier.
"This is not your room, Steve."
Steve spares half a second to look in Natasha's direction; she looks pissed off but he doesn't have time for that right now.
"James." There is no visible reaction but it's not like Steve was expecting any.
"Hey, buddy." Steve catches a facial muscle twitching and clings to that little hope. Steve sits in front of James and tries to catch his eye but he's staring at the other three people in the room.
"James." He touches his arm. No change. Perhaps he should ask them to wait in the living room while he deals with this.
"Steve," Natasha hisses out his name like it's a slur. Steve would like to know what's that about but right now it's not the time and he tells her just that. He doesn't see her face but he knows Natasha did not like being ignored.
Steve tucks a strand of hair behind an ear and lets another second pass, expecting some kind of change, any change. Things were going so well and something as small as this just made James regress so many steps back on his recovery.
We haven't even had time to address his recovery, for fuck's sake.
Doubt is pooling in Steve's stomach, again. There's probably a better option than Steve, someone that will do better when James needs help while they find a way to give him real treatment.
"Steve!"
"Nat, just give me a fucki—!"
James pushes past Steve and plants a foot on the floor. Steve can see in his unyielding eyes, irises dark as a storm whipping the ocean, that he won't be stopped with words. The moment he tries to take a step forward (Steve notices that Natasha has already taken several herself), Steve grabs James by his midriff and pushes him to the bed.
"Hey, hey, pal." He straddles his abdomen and catches his arm before James can push him off. "James, buddy, come on."
Steve hears metallic steps behind him.
"Don't you fucking dare, Tony!"
Steve makes the mistake of turning to glare at Tony in his Iron Man armor, giving James the chance to overthrow him and get back to his feet.
Shit shit shit, his mind submits in a panic.
Steve hurries to reach James. Natasha has already a gun in her hand and Tony has risen his gauntlets. It doesn't seem like neither one of them is going to fire the first shot but Steve can't rely only on that. He positions himself between James and the others and grabs the man by the shoulders.
"James, stop!" He pushes ahead and Steve struggles to contain him now that James isn't starved or having infected injuries. "James, look at me!"
"Steve, it's not going to work," Tony says and Steve has to grit his teeth so as not to yell at him, at any of them. "I can lock him inside a suit and get him to the Hulk's room."
"No!" Steve can't even make himself imagine doing that to James.
With a feeling of foreboding, Steve's hands travel to James' face. His words tremble on their way out. "Come on, James, snap out of it. You don't have to do this, you're safe here."
James stops pushing against Steve's hold. No one tries to come with more brilliant ideas. "You're safe, buddy."
Steve's heart, already beating like crazy against his chest, flutters when James blinks and some awareness seems to come to him. Steve waits, still holding the man's face between his palms. He brushes a stubbled cheek when James' eyes close tight and a frown appears. James groans.
"Hey pal, you with me?"
"Pal," James grumbles under his breath and Steve could cry with relief, truly. It doesn't even sound like the man knows what he's saying but he's definitely more conscious of his surroundings and his actions.
"Do you know where you are, James?" he prompts.
"Steve." He sounds exhausted and Steve doesn't want to force him to do anything if he doesn't have the strength, but they can't just ignore what happened. He can't help but feel anger directed at his teammates for the chain of events that just took place.
"I'm sorry but I need you to answer some questions."
James gives a resigned sigh and his head falls to Steve's shoulder. On its own accord, Steve's hand finds a place at the back of James' head, fingers tangling in dark strands of hair.
"Do you know where you are, James?" Steve asks in a low voice. His eyes don't set on his teammates and he lowers them to the floor, paying close attention to James' breathing.
"Tower," James answers and sags a little further into Steve. He runs blunt nails over James' scalp and gets an arm around James to support him.
"That's right, we're in Avengers Tower." He feels James' chest against his own when he breathes and Steve feels like a piece of shit for having to ask more questions. "Do you know the year?"
This time James needs a minute to find an answer. "Two-thousand-fourteen."
"That's right, buddy," Steve encourages when he feels James sag even further. "How are you feeling?"
James doesn't answer but Steve hears his ragged breaths. "I need you to tell me these things, pal. You have to tell me when you're not feeling well so we can do something about it."
"My head," James finally gasps against Steve's skin. Steve curses under his breath. "It hurts… It hurts so fucking much."
James' own hand goes to his head and Steve lowers his to James' nape. James's hand curls into a fist and it presses against his skull.
"Don't worry, it'll be okay." Steve's told James so many lies that one more won't make him a far worse person than he already is. James grunts like he knows Steve's words are hollow.
Steve drags James to the bed and his body falls like a dead weight on the mattress. He helps James to get under the blankets when the man squints at the bright light. Steve asks J.A.R.V.I.S. to dim the windows.
"Better?"
James tries to open his eyes but another grunt of pain tells Steve that nothing is getting better, far from it. Kneeling by the bed, Steve can only look at James' screwed up face and feel impotent and impuissant. James turns on his side and curls up in a ball, face turning into the pillow.
"What's wrong with you?" he spits out once he's risen to his feet and can face the three people still in the room, staying close to the door. Tony is out of his armor and Natasha has put away her gun. He can't read her expression but that doesn't mean much when it comes to her. Maybe she's still pissed off, maybe she isn't anymore.
"We didn't think it was going to trigger him," Barton says. He looks apologetic but it's not enough to stop Steve's blood from boiling.
"Why don't you answer what you were doing in bed with him, Steve, and stop evading the topic?"
Steve feels like someone just slapped him. He feels cold all over.
He gives a step back and finally realizes what is going on, what his teammates think has happened during the night. He's able to understand it like someone who's been looking at a painting from far too close, saying they don't see anything. His stomach churns and Steve thinks he's going to be sick.
"What do you think I was doing?" Steve says, tone just as glacial as James' skin. He thinks back to those alleys in the Brooklyn of years ago and how his body had felt just like now, ready for a confrontation, damned be the consequences.
"It's an easy question." Her tone is just as unyielding as his own.
"Do you think I raped him, huh?" Steve is not going to beat around the bush. He tries not to react at the groan that comes from the bed.
"Hey now, this is getting ugly," Tony intervenes, hands rising in the air. "Hug it out, come on."
Steve and Natasha stare each other down and Steve looks away only because James makes another sound of discomfort. He returns to his side. There's nothing he can do but it makes him feel better and he hopes it has the same effect on James.
"I was helping him sleep, okay?" Steve says grudgingly. Having someone, especially Natasha who he considers a friend, believe him capable of such a thing, doesn't sit well with him. "My body runs hot, his body runs cold. I asked James if he wanted me to help him not feel like an icicle for a change so he could sleep, and he accepted."
James' eyes open slightly for half a second and Steve can't help but give him a smile. James' lips move and Steve waits for him to speak, but it seems to be too much of an effort.
"You think he can consent?"
"Nat, come on…" Barton says.
Steve stops himself from snapping at Natasha and tries to see it from her point of view. He takes a deep breath before trying to say anything else.
"I understand you, Nat." He catches surprise in her expression before she can school her features. "And I'm really glad your first reaction was to make sure no one was taking advantage of James."
One more deep breath and exhale of air. "But I won't let you insinuate that I'm the kind of person who would do something like that. The only thing I want is for James to get better, whatever that entails."
Natasha seems to mull his words while she's observed by her teammates. Tony seems to think that they still need the Iron Man but for different reasons than a minute ago—Steve can see it in his tense hands and his sharp eyes trained on the Widow.
"My choice." The whispered words take him by surprise, Steve looks at the others, wanting to see if they've heard it, too. He can't comment on it because Natasha is giving a curt nod and saying, "I think you will want to hear what Tony's got."
The change of topic gives him whiplash but Steve decides that it's best not to push. He looks at Tony and lifts a brow, awaiting. He doesn't expect Tony to walk to the bed and sit on it. Steve forces himself not to rise to his feet when Tony grabs James' ankle as a way to get the man's attention.
"I think I found your name," Tony tells James. Steve needs a second to dawn on him that he isn't talking about the name they already have.
James perks up at that, though it only consists of him getting his head out of the blankets.
"I'm going to need you to confirm if you're Sargent James Buchanan Barnes from the one oh seventh. I have some money on this." He has the gall to end it with a wink.
Steve feels James freeze under the blanket and his own eyes go wide with incredulity and consternation. He feels time freeze for a moment, too.
"Bucky?" Steve hears himself say. His eyes open wide and his mouth hangs open before the impossibility. His brain buzzes.
A distressed sound comes from his right and Steve turns to see James—
Bucky. Bucky Barnes. Sarge.
"Bucky?" Steve says again, this time directed at the owner of the nickname. The man in question is covering his face with a hand. For a second, Steve thinks he's trying to claw his skin off.
"I think you should leave," Steve instructs the Avengers, unable to take any more of James'—Bucky, all the Howlies had called him Bucky. He can't see Bucky like this and just do nothing.
He expects someone to object but Tony gets up and, with a concerned face, heads for the door, walking backwards. Barton seems to want to say something but doesn't. Natasha is worrying her lip but Steve knows she will discuss whatever they need to in a more appropriate time.
"I'm looking for specialists to help him," Tony says from the door. "It's slow going because of that pesky little detail of how no one can know he even exists and because he's enhanced."
"And now we know he's the longest P.O.W. in all of history," Barton points out and Steve winces at that. His own questions can wait, too.
Barton stares for a little longer at the man on the bed. His face is pale and he needs Tony to nudge him so he will get into motion.
"Thanks," Bucky grunts through greeted teeth and instinctively Steve tries to soothe him, hand stroking his ashen cheek.
Next time he glances at the others, everyone has left the bedroom.
"Are you cold?" His voice cracks and he needs to clear his throat. "Do you want me to get under the blankets with you?"
Bucky nods his head vigorously and the movement seems to worsen the pain. Steve doesn't waste any more time and slides behind Bucky. A hysterical laugh threatens to escape his throat when Steve realizes that HYDRA's Winter Soldier was addressed as Bucky by his fellow soldiers.
Bucky turns and burrows impossibly close to Steve. He gets his arms around the man and clutches Bucky to his chest.
"Bucky," Steve hears him mumble, voice hoarse but still carrying its characteristic softness. "I'm Bucky."
"Sure you are, pal."
Steve puts his lips to Bucky's forehead and tries not to focus on the protective instinct that's been blooming in his inside and how he can feel it expanding and taking over.
Bucky grips his t-shirt and presses into Steve's body.