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A Bucky Barnes Winter Soldier Fic - The Constant	By : TheConstant1944 Category: Marvel Verse Comics > Captain America Views: 2391 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
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Chapter Fifteen
The Nurse & James Barnes - Learning Memories

James is sleeping but you can see it is giving him no rest as nightmares chase him around and around. He wakes up tired and agitated, and you know it is the sedative that Lehmann is using. It is breaking him down, disrupting his mind. He refuses lunch and you don't push him. You can't. His face is grey, stubbled, his eyes red rimmed with black bags under them. You can see from the way he twists and turns in bed that he can't get comfortable and you suggest maybe a walk down the corridor or a shower.
He turns away from you. “I need to sleep,” he says, but you know he is lying. He has been more than uptight over the last few days. Although they are satisfied with the serum they have given him they are still trying to do something with his left arm but no one will tell you why, not even Doctor Jakobs. They are always prodding and poking, never letting him have any peace.
James' nerves are frayed to the point of making his head want to explode as it aches so much, he feels he is continually on the edge of an electrical shock, he cannot relax, his body so taut, getting cramps. He won't allow the nurse to help him, to touch him. He can't.
Stefan has been watching the two of them and he thinks he knows what the problem is. Freya has helped James out a few times in the shower now, but he knows deep down that a hand isn't always enough. He sees the way James looks at her when she is unaware. Watched James eye's roam over her face - over her body. She is totally innocent, totally oblivious to the effect she is having on him.
James is not getting enough sleep yet his body is getting stronger. He is having electricity shot through his stub and it sets his whole nervous system on edge. Instead of numbing him, Zola's serum leaves the nerves open and so by the end of the sessions James is so on edge and so wound up that Stefan wonders sometimes how he doesn't explode.
That will be the sedative at work. Lehmann making it a little stronger everyday. He calls it a sedative, but it doesn't work on subduing just the body, it works on the patients mind, never allowing it to switch off entirely, breaking it down bit by bit, until it becomes raw.
James Barnes is still James Barnes. He is a decent man, he would never force anyone to do something they didn't want to. Stefan can see this, he can see how their patient turns away from Freya, how he tries to keep his distance. He can see how much it hurts her.
Even now, James pretends to sleep when she is in the room so he doesn't have to look at her, look at her mouth and think of the things he would like her to do with it. Think of the things Steve used to do.
James has no outlet and he needs one. He needs her and she does not know it. James cannot ask her, not for something like that.
At those thoughts, guilt spreads throughout him. He had promised Steve that he would always be his and he will - but this woman, this woman makes him hot inside, he has no other outlet, she makes him want to …
*
“No!”
The utter desperation in his voice has you up out of your chair, running to his bedside. He is trying to sit up, trying to pull his hair out as he cries, and you don't know what is wrong, he is almost hysterical.
“No, no, no...” His voice is full of panic, full of fear.
“James, James what is it? What's wrong?”
You don't want the guards to hear because if they see him in this state they will call Lehmann. All he would do is give him a stronger dose of sedative which will send him down into his nightmares again.
You thought that is where he was, you thought he was sleeping.
He wasn't. He was lying there, turned away from her trying to keep his mind occupied so he doesn't think about her, doesn't think about what he needs from her. He is so uptight, so in need of release that he was trying to remember things, thinking about home, anything to get away from this room, away from her. Away from the thoughts that would creep into his mind and make him feel like he was going to explode. But then realisation hit him, realisation that there were things he is trying to remember but cannot, things that should always be there in his mind.
You try to take his hand out of his hair. It is tangled and he is pulling at his scalp. He is looking at the bed clothes, his eyes moving back and forward as if searching for something in his mind. He is talking to himself.
“James? Talk to me.”
He sees you, realises you are there, looks into your eyes. He grabs your shoulder. “I can't remember. I can't remember them!” His voice grows louder, repeating the same thing over and over.
His eyes are full of fear, full of terror. At first you think he is panicking but he isn't hot to touch, isn't sweating. This is something different. He is agitated, but not in the way you would expect if it was just panic.
He looks away, growing more distraught.
A guard looks in and you turn to him.
“No need to bother Doctor Lehmann. I can deal with it,” you say, remaining calm as if it is a daily occurrence.
The guard believes what you tell him, and returns to his post.
You sit on the edge of the bed. James' voice has dropped again. You sit so you are facing him and you take his hand and hold it. You make him look at you.
“James. What is it you can't remember?” you ask quietly. His eyes are wide, pupils black. Pure distress. “Talk to me. Tell me, breathe slowly and talk to me.”
Your words get through, but he starts to gabble.
“My brothers! My brothers... I can't remember their names, I can't...” His breathing quickens again. His face is getting red and blotchy.
“Breathe slowly, I'm here, I'm with you.” You put his hand on your chest so he can feel you breathe and then on his. He closes his eyes and you can see he is trying so hard to please you, to calm down.
He tries to talk again. “My brothers. I have three brothers, I can't remember their names.” He looks at you, his eyes are haunted.
“It's probably where you are trying to think too hard...” you start to say, but he is shaking his head.
“No, I keep...I keep forgetting things and they don't come back. I'm losing...I'm losing parts of myself,” he looks at you in desperation. “Freya, whats happening to me?” He is desperate for an answer but you don't have one. He begins to weep, and you reach forward to hold him. You hold him tightly, rocking him back and forward. There is nothing you can say.
Later, when he is calmer, you persuade him to eat something. You sit with him quietly. It's evening and no one should disturb you. The guards have already changed shifts and checked everything and you can hear them murmuring outside.
“Have you been able to remember?” you ask and he shakes his head.
“Its Lehmann, isn't it?” he says bitterly, and you know he is asking about the injections Lehmann gives him. It is more of a statement than a question. “I'm losing myself. A little bit everyday. Soon there won't be anything left. I'm losing my memories, things I should know, things from my past. They are taking everything. Everything.” He looks so tired, so beaten.
“Do you trust me?” You ask him. He looks at you and he tries to smile.
“You're the only one I trust.”
You take a deep breath, hoping and praying that he doesn't think this is a trick.
“Then tell me...” you say “and I will remember for you. Tell me about your family, about your life. Just the things that are important to you and I will remember them for you, I will keep those memories safe.”
It is all you can do for him. All you can offer him.
He looks at you, and then down at the bed clothes, his fingers picking at a lose thread.
“But only if you want to,” you say “I won't tell anyone anything you have told me. I know it is difficult for you to trust anyone here, but I won't let you down I promise.”
It is up to him now. He is quiet for a long time. You know not to break that silence.
Then he looks up at you and reaches forward, past your shoulder. He gently pulls at your plait. You help him unpin it at the back; and he pulls it forward trying to untie the end of it, you hold it whilst he takes the string out that is keeping it in place. He begins taking the bottom chevrons apart.
“Do you remember when I was in the camp with you?” he asks. This is the first time he has mentioned the camp. You had assumed he didn't remember his time there.
“You were asleep, and I didn't want to wake you. But the pain was so bad...” His fingers are now running through your loose hair at the end of the braid. You have almost forgotten to breathe. You can't believe what he is saying.
“...you woke up and found your plait was undone. You had to chase it around until you caught it to do back up?”
You vaguely remember it. You had fallen asleep and his morphine had run out. You had cursed yourself.
You see he is waiting for a reply and you nod.
He looks back down at your hair and runs his fingers through it again. “I undid it. I wanted to feel it, feel the softness. Back in Brooklyn where I grew up, after we left school, my buddy Steve and me enrolled in the local art college...” his words hitch a little. ”There was a teacher there, his name was...oh God, what was it?” He closes his eyes for a moment and it comes to him, “...Campbell. That was it. John Campbell. He was a bit strange, odd, but he would only paint with what he called proper art brushes, and they had to be sable brushes. The lighter ones were the colour of your hair, and just as soft. Once...” You see the memory going through his mind and for a moment his eyes lighten. “...I stole his brushes, well, borrowed them for a short while and replaced them with children's paint brushes. He went ballistic. I thought he was going to bust a gut or something, and Steve, Steve just sat there getting redder and redder because he had guessed it was me and...”
And then James laughs, a sound that makes you jump. But as he laughs it dissolves into a sob. You want to hold him, you want to tell him not to think about it any more but you can't.
“Did Campbell find out it was you?” you ask.
James takes a deep breath and tries to laugh again. “Yeah. I owned up but only because he saw how guilty Steve looked and thought it was him. Couldn't have that could I?”
“So you're an artist?” you ask. He shakes his head.
“No...no. But Steve is. God you should see him draw. I was there doing technical drawing. We had such plans for the future. We were going to...” his voice trails off.
“Going to?” you say, but he shakes his head. It is to painful to go there and you don't push him.
He swallows hard, and you are both quiet for a while whilst he continues to play with the end of your plait, slowly unravelling more and more of it and then picking it up he strokes it against his cheek, closing his eyes. “I love your hair,” he says quietly. You can't help but smile.
“I get the feeling you and Steve got up to all types of mischief. At the camp, it was Steve's name you were always saying. It was him you called out for,” you tell him.
He looks back at you, unshed tears making his eyes catch the light. “What if I forget him?” he whispers.
“You won't. I won't let you. Tell me about him and I'll remember him for you. If you think you are forgetting about him then I will remind you. I will tell you what you have told me...I promise.” You can see that he does not know where to begin. “Tell me what he looks like,” you suggest.
Inside, your stomach is turning. You know this is the person who means everything to James. You can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice when he calls Steve's name in dreams. You have heard him beg Steve for help. You have mixed feelings about who this Steve is to James; envy and jealousy, and anger - anger that he never came for James. But there is a part of you that is in awe for how much James loves him.
“Blond, blue eyes, light blue, such an innocence in them,” and James looks down smiling to himself as he pictures Steve in his mind. He looks back up at her, “but not always as innocent as he looks, no thats not right, he is innocent but he could be mischievous. He had a lot of childhood illnesses, it left him...” how does he describe him, how does he describe how small he was yet perfectly formed, how translucent his skin was and how frightening it was when he had a bout of coughing and James thought the wind was going to knock him over?
“I know how illness can affect a childs growth, how delicate it can leave them, how almost transparent they appear,” you say.
James nods, he touches his chest. “But inside here, he is strong. So sure of the world, so brave, so much braver than me, and good...” his voice tails off.
“James. You are brave, don't ever think that you're not.”
“Yeah, thats why I blub at the slightest thing. Why I can't even get out of here on my own. Anyone else would have done something, put up a fight, done...something.”
You lean forward and take his hand. “Don't think like that! Many people would never have survived this long. You have pain every day of your life. We're surrounded by guards, hundreds of feet under ground. Up top is a fortress, thousands of soldiers, no one could ever escape, no one, please don't think that about yourself because its not true.”
He doesn't believe you. He is going back inside himself. You need to distract him.
“How did you first meet Steve?” you ask.
James looks at you and you can see memories flashing past in his mind.
“The school yard. He was on the ground being kicked by three older, bigger boys, and he was telling them he could do this all day,” you do not know it but the last words mimic Steve's voice.
It is something Bucky had heard Steve say a million times.
“I'd never seen such a skinny wimp! After getting rid of the bullies I picked him up. He was as light as a feather and went to swing at me. I told him I was just helpin'. He grinned and told me he had them on the ropes...” he sees you frown. “...an old boxing term we use. It means we had them sorted. On the run, you know?” you do and nod to say you understand. He continues. “I told him it looked liked it. By this time he was brushing himself down, God he was so...so...small but so full of fire. He was bleeding,” James touches his mouth and you see him fade away into the memory for a moment.
“How old were you?” you ask to bring him back.
“I was 13. He was 11. Turned out we lived quite close to each other and it became a regular thing to walk to school together and hang out. But he was always jumping into fights, not because he was a bully or liked to fight, but because he believed in right and wrong. He would always stick up for doing the right thing, know what I mean?”
You smile and nod.
“I think he kinda made me a better person just by me knowing him. Does that make sense?” he asks you.
“I think you are and have always been a better person, James Barnes. You don't give yourself enough credit.”
He is quiet whilst he thinks about what you have said. You wonder what is going through his mind.
“And?” you prompt him.
“Well, I got him into Goldies Gym, taught him boxing...” and he laughs, actually laughs out loud. “You should've of seen him in his boxing shorts. Kid couldn't keep 'em up! Had to wear suspenders. But, man he kept trying. It took several weeks but he finally hit me, accidentally I think, bloodied my nose, and I had a black eye for days. God, my Ma was so mad at me until she realised it was Stevie who had hit me and then she couldn't stop laughing. And my brothers! Well...” for a moment there is such a light in his eyes and he grabs your hand. “I remember! I remember their goddamn names! Freya I know their names, I know my brothers names...”
And he recites them for you. You get him to tell you several times, you do not want to forget as this is important. Later you will ensure that you write them down so that you cannot forget.
As James talks to you, as he becomes excited: his eyes light up, the blue in them not looking so washed out. For the first time ever you hear the Brooklyn accent coming out in his voice. This is him, this is the true James Barnes and it makes you want to cry. This is what it would be like if you had met him outside of this nightmare. And what makes it worse is you know it won't last, you know come tomorrow and the injections and procedures he will start to go quiet again but for this one moment in time he is his real, true self.
For the next hour you listen as he tells you more about Steve and you come to like this young man. You can understand why he means so much to James. But at the end of the hour the strain on James is beginning to show, he is exhausted.
He has totally unravelled your plait as well.
You encourage him to settle down lower in the bed so he can sleep, but when you go to get up he is still holding your hand and won't let it go. You reach over and pull the chair to the edge of the bed and sit down.
*
That is how Stefan finds them later when he comes to relieve her.
Both of them are fast asleep. James is curled on his side as close as he can get to Freya . She is holding his hand which is curled up in her hair, with her head resting on top. Her hair is totally unravelled and splayed out over the bed and her shoulders.
They both look so peaceful he cannot disturb them. It is too rare a thing to see.
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A Bucky Barnes Winter Soldier Fic - The Constant