Avengers: Hunt for the Winter Soldier

Chapter 18

TITLE: Tortured Dreams

Summary: While the Soldier gets his first therapeutic drug infusion, the girls return from their trip to the city, and Steve has a talk with Sam.

Steve had stopped in his apartment to change into workout gear and headed to the gym. His thoughts were focused on Bucky and all that he could see had changed with his friend. It was difficult for him to wrap his head around the torture Barnes had to endure to have his entire personality changed into someone else. He wondered, as he pushed through the door, if it would even be possible to change him back.

Sam looked up from his reps on the training bench to see who just entered the area. When he saw Steve he sat up and put the dumbbells down.

Steve grinned as he walked into the same area and flipped his workout towel over a handle of a rowing machine near the weight training area. "Hey, Sam," he greeted.

He stopped under the pull up bar and turned to face Sam. He then jumped up and grabbed the bar with an overhand grip. He slowly lowered himself, letting his arms extend fully. He hung there for a moment and bent his knees, crossing his ankles to keep a more balanced form. He took a slow deep breath and exhaled it as he pulled himself up toward the bar. He kept his repetitions slow and controlled and focused on maintaining a full range of motion with each rep.

Sam watched him silently for the first twenty pull ups. When Steve realized he was being watched, he finished his twenty and on the final extension, he hung there for a second and then straightened his legs and dropped to the floor.

"Everything okay, Sam?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sam replied and then smiled. "That must feel really great after a week of sitting around."

Steve considered that and grinned. "Yeah, it does. I guess I've been a little preoccupied with other things."

"Yeah, you could say that," Sam agreed with a grin of his own.

"Sorry, Sam," Steve offered, "I don't mean to be –."

"What?" Sam interrupted. "You don't mean to be the best friend you can be to Barnes?"

Steve paused and blinked at him.

"Hey, man, you got nothing to apologize for. Seriously," Sam told him. "I know I made you feel like you have to apologize. You don't. I should apologize."

"No, Sam, it's okay," Steve told him.

"No, it isn't. I should never have made you feel that way. You've gone above and beyond for your buddy. As your friend, I should be supporting that, not making you feel guilty about it."

Steve let that sink in and then he smiled with a nod. "Thanks, Sam." He jumped up again, but this time with an underhand grip on the bar and prepared to do some chin ups.

"And, on that note," Sam said, swinging his leg over the bench to face Steve squarely. "If it's okay with you… I want to ask Tony if I can take his spot on the Soldier team."

Steve looked down at him as he hung from the bar and then let go of it to drop onto his feet. He put his hands on his hips and took a deep breath then nodded. "I'd like that," Steve told him. "I think you could be a big help to Bucky… you do have experience with vets and PTSD. I mean, Tony's a great friend and has been great with resources… but I think you're the better option for one-on-one encounters with the Soldier."

Sam nodded and picked up a dumbbell. "Thanks," he said and began curls.

Steve went back to his chin up bar and the two friends worked through their individual routines supporting each other when needed.

On the return trip home, everyone was quiet: privately recounting the events of the day. It'd been a rather fun day and it was down time they all needed.

Natasha kept her attention on the road and the vehicles changing lanes in front of her. She was feeling really good about the successful shopping trip and she was happy that she'd been able to do something that she hoped would prove to be significant in James' ability to recognize that he could make choices for himself from this point forward. There was no question that, in the decades they'd been separated, his ability to resist Hydra's brutality and conditioning had faltered. His manner was so much more stolid, so much darker and – she wouldn't admit this to anyone but – as a young Widow, she had had strong feelings for the man under the Soldier's mask, and she had been certain that he had favored her.

Having seen up close, just how dispassionate and implacable he'd become, had crushed her heart in a way she wouldn't show outwardly. She hoped that, in time, spending time with her and the Avengers… and most especially with Steve; that he'll be able to recover some of his old self and climb out of the dark hole of isolation he was languishing in.

Beside her, Dr. Golden watched the scenery passing by outside the passenger window with a small smile on her face. She was feeling particularly comfortable and relaxed having had the opportunity to spend a few hours just being "one of the girls" for an afternoon. The bonding experience with Natasha and Wanda moved them closer toward being friends and not just colleagues and she felt that would make a huge difference in her future interaction, not only with the Avengers, but with the Soldier as well.

Behind them, sitting in the back seat, Wanda watched the cars passing on either side of them when the lane they were in slowed due to congestion at the interchanges, and then watching as their lane sped up and they in turn passed by the other cars. Her thoughts, too, kept going over the day she'd just spent with Natasha and Emily. It seemed a bit surreal that they had spent the afternoon clothes shopping for the man known to the rest of the world as The Winter Soldier. She didn't know the man very well, other than what she'd heard of the Winter Soldier through official channels. She knew he was an extremely dangerous covert operative; a prolific assassin and an extreme terrorist. His actions for the past sixty years had shaped the world they lived in today. It was baffling to her that one man's actions could change the political and economic direction for so many countries and for so many millions of people around the world.

But there was more to him than that, she knew. She could feel it in her soul when she found herself standing close to him. Outwardly, he appeared to be stoic and unfeeling and, she supposed, it was the way Hydra expected him to behave, so he did. It was very clear to her, and probably to most of them, that he was a soldier fighting a war on so many levels that none of them could possibly comprehend what it took to keep standing.

Wanda sighed with that thought and wondered about the man who lived inside the Soldier; Sgt. James Barnes. He'd been Steve Rogers' best friend from childhood and through their adult years; that alone had to mean Barnes had to have been an exceptional person to know. Steve's devotion to his friend remained strong; his belief that Barnes still existed, trapped inside the Soldier, and could be recovered, was very inspirational. She smiled softly with the thought that one day they'd all get to meet him.

The car pulled into the garage and the large door closed silently behind them. After parking the car, Natasha grabbed the To Go tray and went searching for Steve and Sam while Emily and Wanda took the bags upstairs. She figured she'd find Steve in the Soldier's room, but was surprised to find only Bruce there.

"Steve's gone to the gym," he informed her.

Natasha stepped over to the bed and looked at the sleeping man. "He looks so innocent when he's asleep," she mentioned.

"Don't we all," Bruce commented with a grin.

She reached out and brushed her fingertips across the Soldier's forehead, pushing aside a strand of hair. She stared at his face for a moment as Bruce watched her. "He's quite handsome," she said softly.

"Aren't we all?" Bruce quipped with a touch of humor. When she looked at him, he smiled. Natasha smiled back and headed out to find Steve.

When she found him, she was pleasantly surprised to find Sam was with him. That made her job a lot easier.

"Gentlemen," she greeted as she entered the gym. "I come bearing gifts of the choco-chino variety." She raised the tray with two large cups on it as she approached them.

"Ohhh, you didn't," Sam said with a wide smile. "I love you!" he said, abandoning his workout. Natasha chuckled as she pulled a cup from the cardboard tray and handed it to him. "Let me guess," he said and inhaled the steam coming out of the sipping hole on the cover. Natasha waited expectantly. "Ohhh, yeah… chocolate with a hint of vanilla… and… caramel! Oh, baby, I love you."

He wrapped both hands lovingly around the tall cup and placed a kiss on Natasha's cheek. She laughed softly as Steve came over to accept his and Sam moved away to enjoy his treat.

"Did you girls have a good time?" Steve asked as she handed him a cup.

"We had a great time," she told him, "And we picked out some nice clothes for James. We'll show you, later, after his treatment if he's up to it."

"Bruce says he should be recovered from it in time for dinner. Hopefully, he'll be up to having something to eat. If he is, we can do that after dinner," he told her.

"Sounds good," she said nodding. "I think I could enjoy a fashion show.

Steve took a sip from his cup and smiled. "I can't really promise we can get him to try them all on, but we'll see," he said then handed the cup back to Natasha and went back to his workout.

In the infirmary, Dr. Banner sat at his laptop inputting information regarding the Soldier's vital signs and overall condition, both before and during his treatment. He looked up from his screen to see Dr. Golden walk into the room. He saved the report so he could continue later and smiled at her.

"Hi," Bruce greeted her. "How was the trip to the city?" he asked.

"It was fun," she told him, smiling. "We had a great time. It was nice to get out for a while and just relax." She moved to the bed and looked down at the Soldier as he slept. "How's he doing?"

"Very well," Bruce told her and turned on the stool to regard his patient. "I think the slower delivery over a longer period of time will have a great improvement on his condition."

"Physically or mentally?" she asked.

Bruce thought about that for a moment and removed his glasses to give his eyes a break. "Well, both, I hope."

Emily nodded and studied their patient as he lay there sedated by the drugs being administered. "He's got a long road ahead of him," she said thoughtfully.

Bruce nodded. "And all uphill," he added.

Emily nodded again solemnly and then a thought occurred to her and she smiled thoughtfully. "All uphill, yes… but he has a lot of people here to help him each step of the way."

He felt himself floating, as if weightless, in a darkness that was all encompassing. The blackness seemed impenetrable and infinite as if it went on forever in every direction; but he felt no trepidation or fear from it. It was actually… rather… peaceful. His feet didn't touch the earth and he reached out in all directions; or at least he imagined he could, but there was nothing to touch, nothing to feel and, for a moment, he wondered if he even had a physical form.

He was consciously aware of his existence, but was it a physical existence or an intangible one? Was he nothing more than a consciousness? He had a vague recollection of pain, physical pain… but was it real or imagined?

He had the distinct impression that he existed in a void; a great expanse of stillness. A Nothingness; as if time and space didn't exist… and neither did he. The darkness was peace… it was painless. He tried to remember if he ever had a physical form, and if he had, who had he been? He couldn't remember. Was it even important?

He felt as though he had known pain; that he had known it intimately. It seemed so far away now; and he suddenly realized that losing that pain meant losing himself… to the void… to the nothingness.

The darkness around him began to swirl with streams of light. He was aware of the darkness and a sensation that it was pulling away from him. He looked around slowly as if expecting something or someone to show itself.

The air currents began to move around him, leaving a cool, icy sensation on his skin. He couldn't see himself in the darkness as he held his hands up in front of him. Or at least he thought he did, but he wasn't even certain if he had a physical form. His brain registered the movement of the icy air as if it was a cool sheet being pulled slowly over his form. For a moment he wondered, without any fear or anxiety, if this was death. There was no sound to be heard and nothing to see. It was still and dark and peaceful.

He hoped this was death, but could he be that lucky? He wondered. He hoped. Was it finally over? Was what finally over he suddenly wondered. What was it that gave him pause about living? If there was something, he couldn't remember it.

He couldn't feel or see his body and he wondered if he had one here. He could think and reason, so his consciousness survived even after death; if this was, in fact, death.

As he considered this revelation a pinpoint light appeared in the darkness in front of him. It was difficult to judge the distance as there was nothing in the darkness to give it depth or scale. He stared at that pinpoint light and wondered if that was the light that he'd been told would await him on the other side.

Who told him that? He wondered. What was the light supposed to be? Oh yes, the light at the end of the tunnel. He imagined he was on a train speeding through a dark tunnel and looking ahead to that small circle of light that waited at the end of it.

A train…

He felt his heart jump and the beat of it pulsed in his throat. The peace and calm had been nudged by trepidation. Why?

It was so dark here. He couldn't see his body, but he became aware of his own breaths; deafening now in the stillness all around him. Anxiety and fear suddenly filled him. Why? Why did he now feel anxious and frightened? There was such calm a moment ago.

The train…

He could see it in his mind's eye now. Had it been real? Did that train really exist?

The darkness began to flash with bright lights; as if someone standing in a dark room was turning a flashlight on and off; allowing him to see only fragments of his surroundings. He wondered where he was and who he was with.

A flash: and there was snow, swirling around him at a high rate of speed; the air was frozen, biting at his ears and cheeks.

A flash: he was crouched atop that train, the sound of its engines deafening in his ears.

A flash: his hand was clutching the top rung of a ladder that scaled the side of the train. Looking down he could see the top of a man's head descending the ladder beneath him.

A flash: he was climbing down that ladder. He could see his hands gripping the rungs as he descended. His ears and cheeks were burning from the cold.

The pinpoint light in front of him began to widen and as it did it became brighter. He could see movement within the light now. He could hear voices but couldn't make out what they were saying. The light stretched and encircled him, but it didn't touch him. The light was separated from him. He was still part of the darkness.

The darkness flashed bright again and he was hanging off the side of the train. He could see his hands clutching a handrail; the wall of the train had been blown out and he now realized he'd been blown out with it. His fingers hurt from the biting cold, but he held on. He looked to his right to see the blonde man climbing out of the train, reaching his hand toward him. The man looked frightened and was shouting something, but he couldn't quite hear his words over the sound of the train's engines and the wind rushing past him.

The man clambered out onto the wreckage and was trying to save him, he realized. He was in a perilous situation and he watched as the man stepped precariously onto the twisted remnants hanging off the side of the speeding train. He was risking his own life trying to reach him.

"Take my hand!" the man shouted. He still couldn't hear him clearly, but somehow he knew what the man had said.

He tried to let go of the railing with one hand; to try to reach out to the man, but the railing twisted and threatened to let go so he grabbed onto it again with both hands.

The man shouted to him again. "Bucky!"

It was a name. Was it his name? He couldn't remember. It sounded familiar but he couldn't be sure.

The railing jolted again, threatening to break away. Fear gripped his spine and quickly turned to terror. He looked up in that split second, to meet the eyes of the other man. Their eyes met… and the railing broke away. "NO!" the man shouted.

He was falling. Looking upward and reaching out toward the man who had tried to save him, his scream filling his own ears as the train became a blur in the driving snow high above him.

He fell for a long time. Was that how he died? He wondered. He didn't remember impacting the ground. Would that be something he would remember in death?

Dr. Banner and Dr. Golden paused in their conversation when the Soldier gasped loudly in his sleep. His body tensed and his right hand grabbed onto the blanket; his fingers curling tightly into the fabric. Other than that, he didn't move.

"Hmm," Bruce hummed. "It looks like he's dreaming."

"Is that unusual – given the drugs you're administering?" Emily asked.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "This treatment includes muscle relaxers. I'm still not entirely sure why they would have been giving him these sedatives. I would think that when they're trying to turn a man into a killer, they wouldn't want to lessen the fight in him."

Dr. Golden frowned, remembering details of the torture and deprogramming Barnes had been subjected to. "Muscle relaxers are given to patients undergoing electro-convulsive therapy," she told him. Bruce looked at her. "The sedatives are given to the subject to try to lessen the seizure activity triggered by the electrical assault on the brain. The anti-psychotics would dampen his anxiety during his torture sessions."

Bruce nodded that he understood. "Well, they don't seem to quiet his mind at all."

"After so many decades, I'd think his system would become accustomed to them," Emily mentioned. "They probably worked great at the beginning, but like any other drug taken continuously he'd build up immunity to them."

"I'm concentrating his withdrawal therapy on those first," Bruce told her. "I'm hoping the effects of those will dissipate and he might regain some of his memories."

"It's possible, but as I told Captain Rogers, considering the decades Sgt. Barnes has been enduring these torture sessions, which were specifically designed to erase his memories; I wouldn't hang my hopes on that," she told him. "It's possible the best we can hope for is to simply help him make new and happier memories."

"Well," Bruce said thoughtfully, "that would be a huge gain too."

"Yes, it would," Emily agreed. "Before that happens though, we're going to be neck deep in the after-effects of this addiction. He seems extremely robotic and unaffected by his surroundings, but that's all going to change."

"How bad do you think it'll get?" Bruce asked.

"Well, drug addiction in itself is a brain disorder," she told him. "Continuous use of drugs can change the way brain circuits work. I already warned Steve that his friend's brain functions have been seriously altered – not only by the abuse and torture, but by these drugs and when we withhold them or change the way he's learned to live, we'll be changing the ways he's had to adapt to survive… we're going to see some drastic and unsettling characteristics come to the surface."

"Such as?" Bruce asked. He had knowledge as a doctor of how the human body and brain worked, but it never hurt to consult with other professionals and Dr. Golden was an expert in dealing with survivors of all manners of abuse.

"I'm more concerned about the Barbiturates he's been given for so long; more so than the sedatives and anti-psychotics. It only takes about one month of continuous use to become addicted to Barbiturates. The brain develops a need for them, or it can't function the way it is accustomed to," she explained. "Once we start withholding Barbiturates, we're going to see some severe symptoms of withdrawal including tremors, agitation and extreme restlessness. Barbiturates increase chemical activity in the brain and that activity increases the transmission of signals between synapses. It's used therapeutically to reduce muscle spasms, relieve anxiety, prevent seizure activity and to induce sleep; all things that would be experienced during, or affected by, electro-shock treatments and other forms of torture."

Bruce sighed. It truly was unfathomable just how inhumane human beings can be toward each other. "So we should expect him to experience more seizure activity-?"

"Possibly," Emily answered. "They suppress the central nervous system and they can cause confusion and memory loss-."

"Those are apparent," Bruce commented.

"They also create irritability and aggression-"

"So, without them we should see more cooperation and… what?" Bruce asked when Emily turned to him making a face.

"I wouldn't expect cooperation… not in the manner you're suggesting," she told him. "It's not like… give him barbs and he gets aggressive, take them away and he becomes compliant. It's not that simple. We're talking about a major maladjustment of his brain functions over an extended period of time. My work here hasn't even begun," she told Bruce. "The true need for my services hasn't even come to light yet."

Bruce stared at the Soldier with building concern. "So… what can we expect?"

"We should definitely expect him to become fatigued, both mentally and physically, often in the extreme. Tremors and possibly seizures as I already mentioned. Because what's been done to him is a form of acquired brain injury, he most likely will experience debilitating problems… we'll definitely see issues with cognitive, behavioral and possibly physical disabilities. He may be able to overcome some or all of it… I don't know. I've never dealt with a super soldier before… or anyone who has suffered to this degree and survived.

"I fully expect him to have difficulty processing information, expressing his thoughts and feelings… he will probably have difficulty comprehending abstract concepts… he will likely have a short attention span, so we shouldn't push too hard or for too long, especially in the beginning… his ability to sense the passing of time will be impaired. I've seen that before. Those are the psychological impairments we can expect.

"The physical ones, besides tremors and seizures, will be balance issues, heightened sensitivity to pain and other sensory input… he'll most likely experience persistent and debilitating headaches, sensitivity to light and loud noises, weakness at times… those are all known symptoms of brain injury.

"The behavioral and emotional issues that will probably arise… irritability… toward others and mostly toward himself… his tolerance for stress will be greatly reduced. There will be increased aggressiveness and possibly combativeness stemming from his inability to do normal things as he's used to doing them. Denial of those disabilities and impatience he'll feel toward his own inabilities. His emotions may be depressed one day and manic the next. He'll most likely lash out at the people around him. We're about to turn the world he knows upside down… it certainly won't be easy on any of us."

"So," Bruce interjected, "a rollercoaster ride."

"That's putting it mildly," Emily replied with a nod.

The light continued to widen in front of him. As its size grew it seemed to close the distance between him and it. His vision blurred and he couldn't move, but he could see figures in the light moving around. He could hear their voices but couldn't make out their words. He caught a glimpse of an invisible barrier all around him, rising up… exposing him to the warmth of the room beyond.

Suddenly awash in new sensations; he wanted to shrink back from it, but he couldn't move. The lights were bright overhead, there was something on his face… a mask. He was now aware of the gas flowing into his nose and mouth; it had an old, almost sour smell.

People moved around him… touching him. He wanted them to stop, but he couldn't speak or move. He could hear machines beeping and people bustling about. He slipped back into darkness.

A flash of light…

He opened his eyes. His eyelids were heavy and he felt drugged. He was being half-carried, half-dragged down a corridor. He wanted to fight them, to get away from them but he couldn't move. His feet dragged behind him, unable to get a footing on the floor.

He closed his eyes and welcomed the darkness.

A flash of light…

He was lying down now. There were straps around his wrists and ankles… something clamped down over his head and face. The voices again but he couldn't understand their words.

A flash of lightning…

He screams.

It hurts. Oh God, it hurts.

A flash…

Lightning shoots through his eye.

His brain feels like it's going to explode. His vision goes black. His muscles suddenly constrict so hard his scream is caught in his throat. His body arches off the table, he's certain his spine has snapped in two. He no longer exists in the peaceful darkness.

"Hold him down!" a voice demands.

He feels rough hands grab onto him, pushing his arms and legs to the table and pinning them there. More hands press against his chest; he can feel the weight of their bodies pressing down on him.

Another bolt of lightning… a scream is caught in his throat by the constriction of his windpipe. The sound that comes out pales in comparison to the pain he endures. His brain is on fire. His eyes are melting in their sockets. Tears boil out of them and run down his cheeks into his ears.

He has no control over what is happening; his body is theirs, not his own. He's aware of the block in his mouth splitting and cracking as his teeth clamp down on it hard. He can feel his teeth sink into the hard rubber material; he tastes it on his tongue.

Another flash…

Lights explode behind his eyelids. His fingers and toes feel charred. His tongue tingles as the electricity cooks the tender muscle. A tortured groan is forced out of him as his vocal cords constrict tightly trying to protect themselves from the invading force. His lungs scream for air, but he can't take a breath.

He's not even aware when the lightning ceases and his muscles slowly loosen their painful grip on his bones. The hands are still on him and they guide his body back down onto the table. He feels a stethoscope pressed to his chest. He hears anxious voices talking loudly. Gloved hands press against his head and tilt his face toward the ceiling. Someone pulls the rubber block from his aching teeth, having to pry his jaws open.

He gasps for air as his lungs begin to work again, but he's exhausted and really doesn't want to expend the energy it takes to breathe in and out. The people seem to know this.

Someone shoves a mask over his face. He can feel the flow of air against his mouth and nose as they administer oxygen to compensate for the two full minutes he was forced to go without.

He's vaguely aware of the voices in the room with him. He can't move or speak or even open his eyes. He wishes for the darkness to come and overtake him again.

On the bed, the Soldier groaned and his body went rigid as his dream took hold of him. He lay stiff as a board; his entire body trembling and his head thrown back. Bruce moved quickly to intervene.

"Seizure!" he called out to alert Emily and she moved to the opposite side of the bed to assist as needed. Bruce kept a hand on the Soldier's right arm and reached for his bag.

As Dr. Golden waited for Banner to give her orders, she watched as the Soldier's body jerked on the bed. His hands were clenched into tight fists and his neck was arched, pressing the back of his head into the pillow. His heels dug into the mattress and, as his muscles tightened, his back arched slightly off the bed and held that position for a few seconds before relaxing and dropping him back to the mattress. A moment later, his body stiffened again, arching again off the mattress. Emily grabbed onto his torso to try to keep him centered on the bed.

"Don't try to hold him down or stop the movements! You could injure him," Bruce told her.

"This isn't a seizure, Bruce," Emily told him as she watched the Soldier closely. His teeth were clenched tight and a pained groan came from his throat. "This is… this is how a patient responds to electro-shock."

"What?'' Bruce replied, in surprise.

"This isn't a seizure. His mind is re-enacting a moment of extreme pain," she told him.

"He's dreaming?" Bruce asked incredulously. Emily watched the Soldier a moment more and shook her head.

"No. He's not dreaming. He's… re-living a memory. He's physically experiencing a traumatic moment… his body is responding to the memory as if it's happening right now."

"Like a flashback?" Bruce asked.

"It's akin to a post-traumatic flashback, but those occur when the patient is fully awake… this is more like what is termed an intrusive recall episode; he's acting out a torture session as if it's actually happening right now."

"Oh my god," Bruce replied. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she answered, keeping her hands on the Soldier's torso to keep him from falling off the bed. Her voice remained calm though, as she'd seen this phenomenon before. "When our bodies are in REM sleep, our brains are active while our bodies lie paralyzed. The chemical our brain releases to cause sleep paralysis is a safety feature that allows us to be active in our dreams while keeping us, and those around us, safe."

She reached out to lay her hand on the Soldier's forehead with the hope that he might be able to feel her touch and know she was there. That he wasn't alone.

"Neurologists have discovered that this protective mechanism that nature gives us, to keep us frozen in place while we dream, breaks down during the nightmares of those suffering with post-traumatic stress. The paralysis is non-existent and, as the mind begins to play back vivid memories of terrifying events, it allows the victim to act out the very dreams, or memories, they're re-living during sleep."

They watched as his muscles began to relax and he fell back to the mattress. His back barely touched the bed when his heels dug into the mattress, arching him off the bed again and he nearly screamed, but the sound was cut off by his constricting throat.

As the Soldier tensed again, Dr. Golden was taken by surprise and she jumped back briefly. She covered her mouth with a hand and then stepped forward again. "Oh my God," she said as she realized the intensity of what she was witnessing. She tried to comfort the man, laying one hand on his metal arm and the other against his forehead again. The striations across his chest and the muscles protruding from his neck were proof of the intensely painful procedure Sgt. Barnes had had to endure repeatedly for decades.

Her eyes raked his body as he was trapped in this tortured dream. Every muscle in his body was constricted and bulging against the material of his clothes. Sweat broke out on his face; his dark hair now stuck to his cheeks and forehead. She moved to the bathroom and wet a washcloth with cold water. She wrung it out and came back out. She placed the cloth across his forehead and held it there with her hand, hoping it would give him some sense of relief.

Steve and Sam had finally ended their routines a little earlier than planned; opting instead to finish their drinks that Nat had so thoughtfully brought for them. The three decided to go check in on the Soldier to see how his first therapy session was going. When the three walked into the room they were stunned at what they saw.

"What the hell's going on? What are you doing?" Steve demanded to know. He shoved his drink into Natasha's hands and practically ran to the Soldier's bedside.

"We're not doing anything to him," Bruce explained. "He's having a bad dream."

"I believe he's dreaming about being subjected to electro-shock treatment," Dr. Golden explained.

"He's dreaming this?" Steve asked.

"Nnnnnggggh!"

The tortured sound of pain forced from the Soldier's throat caused Steve to catch his breath. He looked at his friend being tortured through his dreams. He wanted badly to stop this from happening, but he had no idea how to stop it. Bucky's entire body was now arched off the bed and balanced on just the back of his head and his heels. His fists were clenched in the blanket that had been draped over his body.

Steve reached out, wanting desperately to comfort his friend, but pulled his hand back not knowing what he should be doing. Natasha and Sam stayed where they had stopped and watched the drama unfolding in front of them. Natasha had read the reports too, but to see for herself; how a body reacted to ECT torture was heart-wrenching to say the least. She could barely breathe as she watched the Soldier suffering even outside the reach of his masters. Sam was stunned and unable to move. He'd never experienced this level of PTSD in all his years counseling veterans subjected to war and other horrifying events.

A loud gasp came from the Soldier as he was finally able to take a breath. As he took a deep breath, his muscles began to relax. Steve watched as his body lowered itself to the mattress. His legs collapsed, exhausted from the intense convulsions but his fists were still clenched tightly into the blanket. He gasped loudly as his lungs tried to restart and he let out a cry of anguish as the events of the dream released him.

The Soldier lay on the bed, gasping for air and tears rolled down his cheeks toward his ears. He sobbed loudly as his torturers disappeared and he was left with the lingering after-effects.

Hearing his friend's cries of pain and anguish set Steve into motion. He closed in on Barnes and reached out. He wrapped his arms around his friend and pulled him off the mattress into a tight embrace. The Soldier struggled weakly against the arms encircling him, not quite aware yet. He languished in the twilight sleep that happened between the dream's ending and the beginning of wakefulness.

"Sssshhhh," Steve hushed him, trying to calm his friend's fears and ease his pain. "It's okay," he whispered, holding the man close to him. His soft words and comforting actions helped to settle the tortured man. The Soldier's head dropped back, resting on Steve's forearm and he opened his eyes slowly. Steve looked down at him and the two men stared at each other for a long moment. The Soldier's pupils were enlarged; evidence of the drugs in his system, but he seemed to be staring blindly into Steve's soul.

For a brief moment, Steve thought he would hear Bucky say his name as they looked at each other up close. He hoped to see a flicker of recognition in those deep blue eyes, but if he recognized Steve, he didn't say so.

Instead, his eyes closed again, and Steve drew him closer; tucking the man's head under his chin. He held onto his friend as tight as he could until he realized he'd fallen into a deep sleep again. The others remained silent and just watched.

Steve held onto Bucky as tightly as he could without hurting him and his emotions finally got the best of him. He held Barnes and cried and Dr. Golden let him without trying to comfort or trying to deter him.

She stood silently watching as Steve took care of his friend. To see him with his arms wrapped around the Soldier, cradling the assassin like a child, pulled at her emotions. She had to fight back her own tears as she watched.

Steve rocked his friend in his arms even after he'd fallen back asleep. He found it difficult to let him go now that he'd gotten the chance to comfort him; to hold him. He wondered when exactly the last time Bucky Barnes had been allowed a comforting embrace from someone who truly cared about him. The idea that it could very well have been 1945 – Steve couldn't even comprehend.

Bruce inspected the IV bag and tubing to be sure everything was still working properly. Steve became aware that he was in the way of the doctors tending to the Soldier, so he lowered the man onto the pillow and fixed the blanket over him. Emily helped to spread the blanket squarely as Steve straightened.

"What the hell was that?" Steve inquired; his voice was soft as if he was in shock.

Emily knew that Steve needed to know precisely what he was dealing with; and it was time she explained to him the same details she had shared with Bruce earlier. He needed to know just how hard this was going to get for him and for his friend before it was over.

"Steve, come over here… sit down. I need to talk to you," she said, putting her hand on the back of a chair.