Chapter Text
White clouds his vision, red spotting over white like stars in a dark sky.
There's a sharp, throbbing ache in his arm. He's cold, so frozen that he can feel it in his bones. His skin feels raw, the cold doing nothing for the ache.
His nerves are on fire.
Why are they on fire when he's so cold?
A stabbing pain in his head, through his temples. Did he hit his head? He can't remember.
He tries to move, glancing around. And then he realizes that the white and red aren't just spots.
It's snow, spotted with blood.
His blood.
He screams upon seeing what's left of his mangled arm, lungs aching. He cries, but his tears turn into icy drops before they can even hit his skin.
He's moving. Why is he moving? The snow is soaking his clothes. It hurts. He thinks he might get frostbite from this. But he doesn't get the chance to worry about that.
When he wakes up, it hurts. His whole body is aflame, down to his bones.
His arm, the left one, hurts the most. Looking over, he sees it. There's someone sawing his arm off.
He tries to fight, but he gets knocked out. Only to wake up to the sight of his arm replaced with a metal one.
He tries to move it, squeezing his fingers. Anything. It moves, but he can't feel it.
He can't feel it.
Someone gets too close and that metal hand ends up gripping their throat.
“Sergeant Barnes… the new fist of HYDRA.”
☆☆☆
Bucky wakes up with a scream ripping itself through his throat. He scrambles for the light, panting.
Tears drip down his face as he crumples into his bed once more, holding his metal hand in front of his face.
“I’m not afraid of you.” He chokes out. “I'm not afraid.”
Bucky stares at the metal for a few minutes. Or maybe a few hours. It all blurs together.
It was probably a few seconds, though. Because Sam comes bursting in, worried and frantic.
“Bucky? You alright?” He asks, sitting on the edge of his bed. Sam doesn't touch him, though. He knows better than to do that without warning.
Bucky shakes his head, tears falling on his pillow. He squeezes his eyes shut, curling into himself.
“Can I touch you, buddy?” Sam asks quietly, hand hovering over his shoulder. Bucky nods, aching for a hug.
Sam moves, wrapping his arms around Bucky's frame the best he can, hugging him tightly.
“Wanna talk about it?” He asks, Bucky shaking his head in response.
“Okay. We don't gotta,” Sam says, managing to lay down with him, pulling him to his chest.
“You planning on staying awake tonight?”
Bucky huffs, shrugging. “Dunno,” he says, voice hoarse.
“I'm scared.” He admits after a moment of hesitation. “Stay with me?”
Sam nods, pulling him closer. “Of course.”
“You'll be alright,” Sam murmurs. “In the morning, you and I will be safe and sound. No one can hurt you, okay? Not anymore. Not while I'm here.”
Bucky listens to him speak, his chest aching too much to respond, knowing his voice will crack and break. He nods once, a jerky movement. But it gets the point across.
He wraps his arms around Sam's waist, pressing his face into his chest. Neither of them say a word.
There's nothing to be said.
But as the sun rises, peeking in through the curtains, Bucky's eyes fall shut.
So Sam stays, holding him close, watching him sleep.
No one needs to know that he doesn't want to leave him anyway. That he's perfectly content, just like this.