Adult-FanFiction.org : Marvel 'Verse

A Bucky Barnes Winter Soldier Fic - The Constant	By : TheConstant1944 Category: Marvel Verse Comics > Captain America Views: 2391 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any Marvel characters. They are solely owned by Marvel and MCU. No money is made from this story.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
Chapter Nine
The Patient

Part One - The Nurse
In the morning you dress in your new uniform. It is not like any of your previous nursing uniforms. They have issued you with three of them so that one can be worn whilst one is cleaned, leaving one spare. It is light khaki in colour, styled like a dress coat: buttons all the way down the front, short sleeves, an elastic belt around the middle, a small top pocket, and two pockets lower down. It is to be worn with stockings. There is no hat, but you are told to keep your plait bound up tightly or you will need to cut it off.
At least the two pairs of shoes you have been issued are comfortable.
For when you are not on duty, you are to wear one of your three khaki coloured blouses with a black skirt.
Someone shows you a store cupboard in the dormitory where you can get clean bed linen and towels. They issue you with a set of toiletries. When you have used them up you are to see one of the store masters and swap the old bottles for a new set. They warn you, no old container - no swaps.
Although there is a place to wash clothes yourself, you are also told about the laundry services that run on the camp and how to send your clothes, bedding and anything else in to there. You are told where the canteen is. All food and drinks are free and the canteen is open 24 hours to cover all shifts, it is for everyone, nursing staff, guards, doctors alike. You are then instructed where to put any garbage you want to dispose of.
All of this is restricted to those working in this part of the complex only - in other words those underground.
There are more rules here than you can take in.
You are then handed over to a guard. He hands you a pass and tells you that you must have it with you at all times. It has your photograph on it, which amazes you - where did they get that from?
You clip it to the outside of your top pocket.
The rules get more serious at this point.
He runs over security issues with you. You are not allowed to contact anyone above ground, or use any of the external communication posts. If you feel you have a need to contact someone then you must talk to your supervisor. You ask who that is, but the question is ignored. You will find out later that you do not really have one. The work here is secret, and you are only allowed to discuss any issues concerning the patient with the doctors, or - if need be - fellow staff, or the guards directly working with you.
Do you understand?
He then instructs you of where you can go. Where your pass with allow you. The floor you are on is the second floor down and contains your dormitory, the canteen, and other services. Your work will be done mostly on the third floor and this is a totally restricted area.
Do not expect to ever go to either the first floor or the surface.
Do you understand?
You are never to talk to the patient unless the doctor asks you to, or in the rare case of an emergency. You are here to translate and provide nursing care. All procedures are decided on by the doctors. They are your first port of call if there is a problem.
Do you understand?
If he asks you one more time you may scream.
If the patient asks you to do something or contact someone for him, you are to tell one of the doctors immediately. You will never do anything that the patients asks.
Failure to obey any of these rules means death. Do you understand?
You nod, then stutter “Yes.” You ask if the patient has a name but the guard looks at you blankly, then looks away. “He has no name and you will not address him by one. He is no one. It is important you understand this,” he says, and that is the end of the conversation.
So, all you know still is that the patient is male and speaks English.
You are taken to another elevator and travel down to what seems to be the same set up as the floor above. Turning right, a guard allows you both through the gate and further down into a long curving corridor which looks the same as the one above. Bare concrete. Your footsteps ring on the cold stone floor. You see several numbered doors. Everything down here is dirty, war torn. The place isn't kept very clean, and you look back at the floor when you realise some of the stains are dried blood. There are armed guards everywhere. Down here they have a different uniform to the normal Russian uniforms you are used to seeing above; they are all black, and at the top of each sleeve is an embroidered patch showing a distinctive red-tentacled monster design.
The design has also been stencilled onto every wall and door.
You slow your pace and take a better look at it, and immediately you wish you hadn't.
It reminds you of a monster you had once glimpsed as a child. Your father sometimes imported English story magazines from abroad. You were not supposed to look at them but one day you had looked through his latest issue, which featured a story by a British author called Lovecraft. There was a coloured drawing of the monster that he wrote about, Cthulhu. You have never forgotten that picture. It had caused you nightmares for weeks. You have a feeling this this new monster will too.
“What is that?” you can't help but ask the guard, and he frowns at you.
“Hydra,” he says, and carries on walking.
You look back at the design, confused. Another book your father owned was a volume of Greek Myths and Legends. It used to fascinate you as a child, and he would use it when teaching you to read. In there was a beast named Hydra, a large serpent who, to give it its due had many heads, but most certainly wasn't a red skulled monstrosity.
You hurry to catch up with the guard.
You reach another gate. The two guards look at you, rifles held firm, and the man you are with shows them your pass. They let you through. Things feel tenser, and you know you are reaching wherever it is he is taking you.
Your stomach starts to churn. Is your patient going to turn out to be a monster? Some freak of nature? Your mind runs riot with your imagination; they told you he has killed already, what if...? You clamp down hard on your thoughts.
Pull yourself together.
As you get nearer to your destination, you recognise a smell you hoped never to encounter again: the smell of burnt and diseased flesh. It is tinged with another smell you don’t quite recognise, but sets your teeth on edge.
Then you are taken through a set of double doors with no numbers. A board above the doors states it is the Main Room. Large RESTRICTED AREA notices are posted in red and black on each door. You pass through them and into a large room.
Without any further instructions, the guard leaves your side and leaves the room.
You stand there feeling lost, looking around. There seem to be a lot of people in the room, either at monitoring desks or walking around talking in groups. They wear off white coats that have seen better days. One man seems to have blood on the sleeve of his. Fresh red blood.
There is an annoying hum of electricity in the room and the murmur of voices, different accents all speaking Russian and all vying for attention. The light is bright, not just the lights on the ceiling but there are floor lamps lit, their light cantered on a space in the middle of the room where an empty table stands. Fresh blood speckles the surface, an empty hypodermic on the floor under it. A tray of tools lies next to it, scalpels, other things, bloodied, bits of black cotton, kidney shaped dishes with red stained water. A pair of what looks like leads with electrodes at the head of them carelessly thrown and in danger of slipping off the side of the table.
You do not recognise half the equipment in the room, but like any busy hospital there is paperwork, files spread about desks. You glance down at a file on a desk next to you but what you see makes no sense - graphs, figures - so you look away again.
One of the other nurses passes by you, nods, and leaves. You turn and watch her go. You thought she might have filled you in, tell you what you need to do - but obviously not. They are going to drop you in at the deep end.
There are three guards in here, all of whom raised their rifles slightly as you were brought into the room. They only relax when they see your uniform and see it is only the change of shift.
As you entered this Main Room you were aware of the terrible smells that are coming from it, electricity, vomit and burnt flesh. You breathe through your mouth until you get used to it. When you were exiting the lift, you thought you heard screaming coming from somewhere and somehow you know it was from here. You had hoped it was just your imagination, caused by the awful atmosphere of the place.
You turn again as movement catches your eye.
Then you see him.
Your patient.
Two guards are placing him on a trolley in the middle of the room. He is groaning. There is a group of doctors at a panel of instruments and one of them is instructing an orderly to take the patient back to his room. At first you do not realise who the patient is, but then a guard steps away and you are told to attend to him.
You walk closer, until you come to the head of the trolley, and the bottom drops out of your world.
What you see sickens you; the injuries inflicted and the awful look of pain on his face. His eyes are closed. His hair is long, down to his shoulders, matted, and filthy. His face is stubble, and his pallor is deadly grey. He is dressed in a soiled, torn hospital gown and part of his left arm is missing. The stump is crudely stitched with black thread and the damaged flesh puffy and infected; there is actually blood trickling from around the stitches, and scars stand out against the pale flesh. His bones stand out, from what you can see there is no spare flesh on him - yet strangely, he does not appear to be as emaciated as you would think. All he is wearing is the filthy hospital gown. On his body, arms and the side of his face are varied burns, bruises and other wounds some of which are open and weeping, and you realise this is one of the sources of the terrible smells in the lab.
But, what is more gut wrenching to you, is that you know this man.
It is the American. Your American. The one you saved, and then could not protect. The one whose dog tags even now are hidden under the floorboards in your parents house.
It is James Barnes.
Your eyes widen. You feel dizzy and suddenly very hot. The room is airless and you reach out to steady yourself. No, it can't be him, it can't be. Your stomach rolls and you can't help but gasp.
His eyes open when he hears the noise you make and you wish they hadn't. They are hollow, pale and empty. You cannot even see the pain he must be in reflected in them. He doesn't look at you, he doesn't even know you are there, he has the thousand-yard stare of broken soldiers everywhere. His eyes close again.
All these years you had thought him either dead or, sometimes with hope, repatriated home as a POW after the war ended. Back where he belongs.
But no, he is here. Tortured and experimented on, all this time. It has been so long and the awful thought in your mind is, it is your fault, why didn't you let him die? Why didn't you fight more when they took him? Why didn't you...
“Is there a problem, Nurse?” asks one of the doctors.
You drag your eyes away from the patient and look at him. A guard tenses and shifts his stance, his finger on the trigger of his gun tightens and you swallow.
Concentrate.
You shake your head no. “No problem” you say.
Do they know you have met him before? Do they know about his time in the field hospital when you attended him when he was first dragged there? Is this a game or just a horrible coincidence?
The doctor looks at you for a moment and then you are dismissed from his mind. You are just the next in a line of nurses that has been assigned to this project, and he won't even remember you. You are not important. You are small and insignificant, a cog in the machine marching on Hydra's orders.
The orderly is the young man who told you not to worry on your first night. He tells you that you are going with him and the patient. He seems to realise that you have had a shock but you don't see this at the time. You try to concentrate on what he is telling you, but you keep looking at the man on the trolley.
At James Barnes.
You follow him as he takes the patient back to his room, a guard follows. As you help manoeuvre the trolley down the corridor you can't take your eyes away from James. At one point when the trolley bumps over something he groans and you reach out to touch him but hesitate, and then withdraw your hand. If you touch him, it would make it real and you so badly want to think it is just a nightmare, that it can't be real, can't be true.
You stop outside of a room and the guard joins another one and remains outside. You help wheel the trolley inside and stop. The orderly goes to move the trolley to put the patient in the bed but you stop him.
The whole room is filthy and smells disgusting. There are no windows you can open, although there does appear to be some type of air conditioning in the corridors. Garbage and detritus lies everywhere. You look around. There is a table and chair: the table covered in papers, charts, pencils, half eaten plates of food, a partially filled jug of water and a cup.
A cabinet stands empty in the corner: one door missing and on the top bowls of what looks like liquidised food, some dried, some mouldy, a fly feeding off one of them. An old trolley stands in the other corner with what looks like old syringes, packets torn open, needles - some broken, used bandages, smears of blood, and other things you don't want to think about.
You look at the bed and swallow. It is the main source of the smell. The sheets are grey, encrusted with filth and God knows what. You can see that it has never been cleaned, never been made. You can't describe it, you have never seen anything like it. You go over and pick up the sheets and blankets and close your eyes. Faeces and urine matted into the sheets, blood and even skin.
On the sides attached to the bed are heavy buckled leather straps ingrained with blood.
The orderly watches her. He doesn't know what to say. How does he explain?
He sees her jaw tighten as she looks at the bed, sees her hands clench. She turns to look back at him and he sees a look in her eyes and he knows it is trouble.
“I am not putting him back in there. His wounds need seeing to. He needs cleaning...just...what the hell...” You stop, look around the room and then back at him. “Why?” you ask finally, it is all you can say and he knows what you are asking.
You are horrified. The patient is a human being, and you wouldn't let an animal suffer the way he is suffering. The orderly takes your arm and makes you look at him and tries to explain, tries to tell you this is the way it is. He tells you that the main group of nurses, some of the guards and all of the orderlies are convicts taken out of prisons, that most don't even have medical training. They know they are lucky to be here, and they will not risk that for anyone. If you make waves you will disappear.
You ask if that was meant to be a threat.
“No,” he says. “I'm just trying to tell you what its like here.”
You take a long look at him. He is not the type to make threats. You see a simple human being just trying to survive - but caring enough to warn you so you can survive too.
“What about you?” you ask.
“I too am from prison, I killed a man.”
“Why?”
“He raped my sister. But he was high up in the Sovnarkom and they didn't want to know what he had done. My sister killed herself out of shame.”
You nod. You understand. You know how the world works.
“What did you do?” he asks.
“I didn't do anything. I'm a nurse, and my crime seems to be that I speak English. They wanted someone who can communicate with the patient and I seem to have gotten the job.“
You look around the room again, and then at your patient, and then back at the orderly.
Thank God I did, you think to yourself, the realisation of the situation dawning on you.
“Listen, I won't ask you to put yourself at risk, but this is my patient and I will treat him with respect and dignity. All I ask is that when you are working with me you do the same.
A silent agreement passes between the two of you.
“What would you like me to do?” he asks.
“Where is the nearest bathroom and toilet?”
“Down the corridor. He wouldn't make it, its too far.”
“So...” you were going to ask what they do when he needs to urinate but it has all just clicked; they do nothing. “What about bed pans, supplies...”
“There are several cupboards full of things, sheets, items like that, but they are never used. Anything that can be pilfered is, but these things are not of interest. I can see what there is and bring it back for you.”
You give him a verbal list of things you want him to fetch: clean sheets, towels, blankets, pillows and can he find someone to help him carry something.
“Wait. What pain medication does he have?”
The orderly's eyes grow wide, and he shakes his head. “None, he is prescribed morphine but...it is of value so...” he shrugs “the black market,” he doesn't need to say any more.
You look down at the floor. You breathe deeply. You then look up at him.
“Could you at least get hold of... I don't know, some phenacetin? Anything we can give him whilst we wash him.”
Stefan actually smiles.“Leave it to me.” This is something he can actually help you with, he appears to know just where and who to ask.
After he leaves, you take one of the pillows and turn it to the least filthy side to place under James' head. You get the cup and jug of water on the desk and try to wipe it as clean as you can and empty some of the water into it. You take it over to the trolley.
No one is with you for those few short moments. You speak to him, keeping your voice low, and you can hear the tremor in it. You know what they told you but you need to talk to him, you need to say his name.
“James, I need you to drink some water.” You slide your hand under his neck as he looks at the cup. You can see the thirst in his eyes, and he grabs your hand to drink, closing his eyes as the water spills into his mouth. You want to say more, you want to ask him how he came to be here, you want to tell him how sorry you are, but you hear voices in the corridor.
Instead you put the cup down and tell him you are going to clean him and remake his bed.
The orderly comes in loaded with items and a guard follows.
The guard looks at you and moves closer. You tell him what you want him to do and expect an argument but instead he studies you and then nods. You have asked him to fetch one of the unused mattresses from the dormitory you are sleeping in and some clean pillows. Meanwhile could someone get rid of the mattress currently in the room? You are used to talking to soldiers. It is going to take you a while to learn who is who, but you think you can already trust the orderly with you: if he chose this guard then you feel you can trust him too.
You pray you are right.
When the guard has left, the orderly passes you a small envelope with white pills in. You recognise them. Phenacetin, you have given out many in your lifetime. They some times have side effects, but in this instance it is the only option you have and somehow you think they will be the least of James' problems.
The orderly leaves to catch up with the guard. You return to James and, taking up the water again, you persuade him to take three of the tablets. They will take time to work and only be of a small help but it is all you have to give him. You put the rest in your pocket for later. He is so tired he barely takes in what is happening.
The men return with a clean mattress. Whilst they see to the bed, you slip out of the room and head in the same direction they went, on a mission of your own. You are worried that it may take a while but your fears are unfounded. You have a moments hesitation as you approach the gate but your pass gets you past the guards.
You head back to your dormitory and you pray there is no one there, for once someone is on your side, the room is empty. You disappear into the bathroom where you take your toothbrush and tube of Kalodont, then you pilfer soap and shampoo, a brush, scissors and anything else you can get your hands on. You also find a jug and a clean cup. Nowhere in the many rules you were given did it say you couldn't borrow or steal. On your way out you take two of the soft flannelette sheets from the dormitory store cupboard.
Reaching the third floor again you find another trolley and bowls, which you fill with warm water from the shower room down the corridor from the patient's room. Not very sterile but better than nothing.
You make your way back to the patient's room and put the trolley next to the one James is on.
You look at him, and he actually puts his hand out to touch you. The look he gives you is heart breaking. You put your hand over his and then reach out and touch his cheek.
You lay James' hand back down on the trolley, trying to smile at him. You have tears in your eyes and to cover this, you take up the new jug and pour him some fresh water. You help him drink from it again. His eyes don't leave you.
You think he recognises you, but you can't be sure. You cannot ask him with so many people in and out of the room, you cannot open up a line of communication with him unless you can prove it is to do with his care. You will be of no use to him if you are caught and removed before you can do any good.
Your feelings well up. You want to protect him, take him away from here, make him well. The orderly coughs behind you and asks you a question, bringing you back down to earth.
You go back over to the bed and instruct the orderly on how you want the new bed made up. It looks as though he is going to argue with you and you know what he is going to say: it is a waste of time, as soon as your shift ends things will go back to what they were, no one else will clean the bed, clean the patient. But you just look at him and he turns to do what you have asked. You are hoping a combination of a rubber sheet and several blankets will absorb any mess and then these you can get rid of when you are next on duty. It may help keep the new mattress clean.
You also ask him to see if he can clean up the leather restraints. You know he won't be able to get the blood out but at least he can get some of the sticky residue off.
Before you go back to James you take a moment to ask the orderly quietly what his name is.
He smiles at you and actually holds out his hand to shake yours.
“Stefan...Stefan Yegorov.”
You take his hand.
“Freya Bowman,” you say.
You have made your first friend.
“Freya,” Stefan whispers and you look at him. The older guard has left the room but there are still the two stationed outside.
“You know him, don't you? I heard you call him by a name.”
You look at him and he tries to smile again, but you see concern in his eyes.
You have to trust someone, so you nod.
“Be careful. Don't use his name when there are other people about, it will get you killed. We are not supposed to know anything about him.”
You nod again showing you understand, and then turn back to your patient. So much to think about. You are going to have to really watch your step.
“When you have finished could you give me a hand to clean him?” you ask, and Stefan nods.
You are on auto pilot now. This is your patient. You are his nurse.
You touch James' shoulder and when you have his attention you tell him you are going to cut his hair and then bathe him.
You start to cut it at the back, it is matted almost like a blanket, greasy, filthy, thick with God knows what.
You need to cut out quite a bit and then when you have you brush through what is left. You leave his hair as long as you can but not so long that it will tangle so easily in the future. You remember how he had it when you first saw him, but you are not a hairdresser, you would have no idea on style. Looking at him now and remembering makes your stomach clench when you think about how long ago that was, how long that means he has been here.
As you begin to wet the hair the smell coming off it is terrible. You have checked his scalp and although there are scars you cannot see any open wounds so you use the pilfered shampoo; a little at a time, rinsing and washing, then massaging his scalp watching as his body slowly begins to relax, his eyes close.
Stefan comes over and asks you if you want him to shave the patient, you nod.
“I thought he would be bearded,” you say.
Stefan shakes his head. “One of the things the doctors insist on, keeping him more or less shaved, I don't know why, maybe they think it is civilised,” he shrugs his shoulders.
When he has finished you wash James' face and neck. You wipe carefully around his closed eyes. You clean up a sore point on the side of his head where you think may have used some type of electrodes. His ears have obviously bled at some point, and you are as careful as you can be to clean them.
You then move him slightly and put one of the new pillows under his head.
At first you think James has fallen asleep, but then you realise he has opened his eyes and is looking at you. Those beautiful blue eyes, full of so much pain.
You pick up the scissors again and gently touch the hospital gown.
“I need to cut this away to see to your wounds. Is that all right?” you ask, and you see panic in his eyes.
He actually brings his hand up and puts his arm across the dirty gown to stop you.
“I need to do this to help you. I need to get you clean.” You lay your hand on his shoulder and he tries to say something to you but his voice is so quiet you can't hear what he says. He closes his eyes briefly then you watch as he tries to talk again.
“I'm dirty,” he says - his voice full of shame which makes you want to sob.
You take his hand. “I know, but it's not your fault. This will help you feel better. Let me, if it hurts just tell me to stop and I promise I will until you are ready again, I won't do anything you don't want me to.” You will not violate his privacy, you will wait for him to agree, to give his permission.
He does. But he turns his head away from you and closes his eyes.
You cut away the gown, each inch of flesh reveals what he has been through. You see so many different wounds, festering flesh, scars you remember - but so many new ones. What have they been doing to him? Burns, patches of skin trying to grow over diseased flesh. You can feel the heat coming from him more as the gown comes away. You remember that strange heat from the field hospital. You could see the lower part of his legs before and the sores but now you try not to react to the top of his legs, to the mess around his genitals.
Quickly, you grab up a sheet and lay it over the bottom half of his body.
Your hands are trembling. You feel sick. You need to calm down; you need to be here for him, to help him. You have seen bad wounds before but this is torture, it can be nothing else. Nothing makes sense.
Why would they be torturing him after all this time?
Stefan and the guard have come back in and you look at them trying not to let them see the tears in your eyes, the shock on your face.
“Do you have an infirmary here?” you ask the guard and he nods.
“I need you to go there and ask the camp doctor if he can let you have some things.” You are writing something down on a scrap of paper as you talk.
You look up and he is studying you again.
“Do you want me to show you why I need them?” you ask, and he sees the determined look in your eyes. He doesn't say anything but holds his hand out for the paper.
You have asked for salves for bed sores, creams for open wounds, sterile bandages, saline solution, silk suture, needles, anything you think might help.
When he has gone you ask Stefan who the guard is.
“His name is Eduard Marinov,” he says.
“He seems decent?” your tone is questioning and Stefan nods.
“Not bad. He is Hydra but I think he is trustworthy, he's...helped me with the patient before,”
You nod, filing the name away for the future.
Stefan goes to change the water, and when he returns helps you tear the flannelette sheets up into cloths you can use. He looks at you and holds the sheets up grinning and you can't help but smile, he has guessed where you pilfered them from. He works on cleaning the grime on James' right arm, carefully working around the flesh still puffy from where the patient had previously hurt himself. He then moves on to his chest whilst you concentrate on the wounds on his belly.
As you clean each wound you ask Stefan what caused them. From that you learn some of the burns are from the machinery in the main room and some are from special batons carried by a few of the guards and most of the orderlies.
You notice Stefan doesn't carry one.
“What are they for? Surely not self defence! What on earth could Ja- he do to them in his state?”
“They are to ensure the co-operation of the patient,” he says as if by rote, “and to punish him when they feel he has done something wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“Wetting the bed, screaming in pain. Freya, it is very...difficult here for him. They hate him, to them he is an Amerikanskiy svin'y, an American pig, no more. They have no compassion, they are murderers, thieves, worse.”
You look back down at what you are doing, your jaw clenching. Things will change. You won't allow this to continue even if you have to hurt someone yourself. You know you cannot stop this over night, it will take a while - but you will make sure you get into a position of trust and then this will stop.
There are old scars you recognise from the bullet wounds at the field camp, but also you have started to notice that some of the wounds are from where the skin has seemed to split open. Stefan tries to explain what he has seen, he talks quietly. It is to do with the liquid they inject into the patient and the doses of radiation, it seems to make the patient's bones grow and that splits the skin.
He doesn't understand it, and neither do you.
“I don”t understand. Is it torture? Is that what they are doing?”
Stefan glances at the door but there doesn't seem to be anyone that can hear them if they talk quietly.
“I don't think so. More...” he searches for the right word “experimentation. You feel the heat? That seems to mean his body is trying to repair itself but there are times when it seems to also be tearing him apart inside. I don't understand what they say but I think they are trying to...I don't know, improve his body somehow.” Stefan shrugs his shoulders to show his bewilderment.
You are quiet until your come to a scar on his belly that seems to be have been caused by a particularly nasty burn and has been operated on. “And this one?” It has healed but where the skin is thin and with the stress the patient's body is under, small strands of it have split open and become infected.
“He has tried to kill himself several times,” Stefan says quietly. He indicates James right arm, mixed in with needle marks and where the drip has been inserted is a scar showing a line of what looks like stitching, going from wrist to just below the arm pit.
“That,” he nods to the stomach wound, “he rammed a shock baton on full charge into his stomach. It burnt right through to his organs. He should have died, it was bad.” That is all Stefan needs to say for you to imagine the pain and torment. You clean his abdomen and feel James' body tense as you go slightly further down but you stop and for now that is as far as you go.
“Its all right James. We will try not to hurt you.” You gently stroke his forehead. You are building a picture of what life here is like and your heart goes out to him. He must have been in so much pain for so long. The doctors torturing him with their serums and experiments, the nursing staff taunting and torturing him for their entertainment. They are all as bad as each other and you feel a hatred for them all starting in your gut.
You turn your attention to one of the worst areas, his left arm. The end of the stub is sore and weeping, the black cotton is barely keeping the flesh together, its not even proper surgical suture. Stefan tells you that they are always opening the stub up and probing the area, sending electricity through it. Again he does not understand the thoughts behind the experiments he just knows that they make the patient scream so badly he is hoarse by the end of it. You clean around the area as much as you can, this is why you have asked for the saline solution, you need to clean the open wounds with it before you can dress them properly.
You don't know whether to replace the black cotton with the suture you have asked for if they are going to reopen the wound tomorrow. It may just cause more damage to try and mend it now. You begin to doubt your own ability, back in the field camp it was easier, there were always doctors on call and you were on automatic pilot, but now, now you are alone and you feel you have no one to ask for help. Stefan is good, does what you ask but he has no medical experience, none of the nursing staff do either, the doctors are more scientists than healers, who do you ask?
You are beginning to feel warm. It is not just the stuffiness of the room but the warmth coming from James' body. There is also a small ball of panic starting in your chest. Can you do this? What if you do the wrong thing and cause him more pain? You also want to ask Stefan more but you know you need to bide your time, too much at once and he may back away from you and you need to keep him on your side. You wipe your brow with your arm. Looking back at the stub of James' left arm how can you make sense of what is left of the skin. There is hardly any intact, the stitches in some places are holding nothing. You can see the bone, see that at the end of it there is hardly any marrow and there is a thin trickle of liquid indicating that what marrow there is, is infected.
For moment it feels like it is too much for you to handle.
“Stefan, you couldn't get some water for me to drink could you?” you ask, trying to buy time whilst you think and try to pull yourself together. When he comes back with a fresh cup you take a drink then you set to work. You will ask one of the doctors if it is possible in the future that they will allow you to sew the stub once they are finished, you can then use the proper suture.
You need to do his back next. You touch James' shoulder. He has been so quiet. A few times you have heard an indrawn breath and felt his body twitch as something stings or hurts so badly he can't help but move.
“How are you doing? We are going to turn you on your side so I can wash your back, is that all right?” you wait for him to nod and then with Stefan's help you turn him onto his right side.
There are bed sores on his shoulder blades and burns on his back. You deal with these first.
You turn your attention to the other marks you don't understand, striations which are not healing and keep pulling open. At first you think they are where the skin has split but they are so puffy, so infected.
You ask Stefan if he knows what caused them and his face flushes.
He looks away from you.“The others, they punished him.”
“Punished?”
“For killing the orderly.”
You don't say anything. He continues.
“They took him to the shower room, poured bleach over him and scrubbed at his skin with those hard bristled brooms, you know the ones? His back won't heal, I think it took the brunt of it.”
You close your eyes.
Bleach. They poured bleach on him.
You grit your teeth and when you look back at Stefan he can see murder in your eyes.
“How? How can the doctors let it happen? How can anyone be that cruel, that evil?”
He knows it is not really a question. “You can't do anything about it, you don't understand what it is like here. Listen to me, in a few days you will understand more. The doctors don't care how he is treated as long as they can do whatever it is they do to him. They never see him except when he is in the main room. The others, if they think you are causing trouble they will kill you. I am not exaggerating. ”
“Why did he kill the orderly?” you ask quietly, and you don't think Stefan is going to answer you.
“Stefan?”
“I'm not sure but I think the orderly and some guards...raped him, I don't know for sure, I wasn't there, I only overheard some things later.”
You say nothing. You don't trust yourself to.
You rinse the cloth and start to clean lower. The stench is awful and you breath through your nose. The food they give him must cause bouts of diarrhoea and it is never cleaned away properly. You soak the area, clean, soak the area, clean. You feel him flinch and for a moment you stop and put your hand on his shoulder. What must it be like at the front of his body? How are you going to clean him there? You begin again and clean as much as you can, the area is sore and you don't want to scrub but he is clean enough.
You pat the area dry and then fold and put a soft towel under there for now until you can dress some of the wounds. Stefan helps you move him onto his back just as the guard is returning.
He has everything you asked for and you thank him. He leaves, and you put the jars and other things on top of a towel you have laid out on the bedside cabinet. Stefan says he will change the water again. You need to tear up some more cloths, the ones you were using are no good any more.
Stefan returns and you are ready now to do the next part.
“James,” you say quietly and he opens his eyes.
“James I need to clean between your legs. I'm sorry but I have to.” You try to be as persuasive as you can because you know he doesn't want you to touch him there. His eyes widen and he shakes his head. No. He closes his eyes and again he lifts his hand and puts it over his body but this time he also tries to do the same with his left one and you see him flinch with the pain. He can't move it far enough and you feel so helpless as what is left of the arm moves but won't do what he wants to do, which is protect himself.
You breathe deeply. You take hold of the stub and gently lay it back down, keeping your hand lightly on it.
“James, there are sores on the inside of your thighs and around that area. They must be agony for you. I need to clean you. I'm a nurse, I've done this before, please let me help you, please trust me.” You watch as tears run from under his eye lids and your own eyes water, your throat thickens.
He is breathing fast, his nostrils flare and he keeps shaking his head no, making a terrible fretful noise that breaks your heart.
You turn to Stefan.
“Can you leave us alone?” you ask.
He hesitates, he is not supposed to leave you on your own with the patient when the patient is not restrained.
“Please, just outside the door?” you say quietly.
He nods and then leaves and as he walks out of the door he pulls it to, he dare not close it but for now it is as much privacy as he can give you.
“James I know you feel you can't trust anyone but you can trust me. I can see what they have done to you, I see the injuries, I'm a nurse, I have dealt with mens injuries before. Being clean will make you feel better, it will make you feel human again. I do understand please believe me...please trust me.”
You stroke his hair and wait.
He doesn't answer. You can see he is trying so hard not to sob. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling as tears roll down his face, you watch him gulp. You continue to stroke his hair, your other hand gently stroking the skin on the underside of his left arm, the only part of it not sliced open by the doctors. You let him cry. You watch his face, those beautiful blue eyes, the eyelashes against his pale skin. How can this have happened to him? It is all your fault. You should have let him die at the camp.
“I'm sorry,” he says just as in your mind you are saying those words to him.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
Then he is looking at you, he lifts his hand away from his body and tries to wipe his cheeks dry. You know he is letting you do what you need to do.
“I'll be as quick as I can. if you want me to stop just say.”
He closes his eyes as you place a sheet over his chest. His right hand clenches and you see him take a deep breath. You don't remove the bottom sheet but instead you push it up.
You swallow.
The whole area is red and swollen, blood and pus ooze from sores on the inside of his thighs and the smell is so bad you think you are going to vomit. His pubic hair is matted with faeces, dried urine, blood and pus. You turn away and soak a cloth in the bowl and then looking at him once more you move his left leg so it bends slightly away from you. You then do the same with his right leg bending it towards you.
The scissors are still on the trolley, you wish you had some way of sterilising them but you don't. Very carefully so you don't knick his skin you cut away the hair, you rinse your fingers in one of the bowls and use the cloth to gently clean the area. You can't cut the hair to close because you don't want the ends to aggravate the skin. You try to do this as fast as you can because you know he is struggling.
You clean the area moving downwards, gently holding his penis and testicles in your hand as you clean those. His whole body has tensed and his right hand is so clenched you know his finger nails will have broken the skin of his palm. You clean underneath, snipping away the hair until the whole area is clean. There are several sores which you will need to use cream on.
Then you begin to clean the inside of his thighs, skin actually sloughs off and you gulp. In your time as a nurse you can count on one hand how many times you have been sick in the course of dressing a patients wounds.
But this is so much more personal. This is James.
You breath through your nose. Don't be sick, you can do this.
You can hear his laboured breathing, there is no way the pain killers you gave him will help with this type of pain at all but he doesn't utter a word.
“I've nearly finished just bear with me for a few more minutes,” you say and go to fetch some salve. You put it on the wounds where you can and then straighten his legs. You pull the sheet over him and then wash your hands to give him time to compose himself.
You then move and place your hand on his shoulder but you do not say anything. He looks at you his eyes so wide, you can see the pain he is in, the humiliation he feels and there is nothing you can do to end it, what can you say? You have no idea of what he has gone through during the last few years, what has been done to him and you can't promise him an end to it. Your mind is still struggling with the shock of finding him here.
You are aware of voices out in the corridor and you know time has run out. You need to let Stefan back in before anyone starts to wonder why he isn't with you.
Stefan replaces the water for you and then you both clean the bottom of James' legs and his feet. You clip his toe nails trying not to cut the skin where they have grown long and almost into the ends of the toes themselves. It reminds you to check the nails on his right hand and you return to it now and slowly get him to unclench it. The nails there are jagged and you smooth them off and then wash his palm where they have sliced into the skin, you add some salve. Is there anywhere on his poor body that there is not an injury?
“We just need to add some salve to your back and then we're finished and we can let you sleep.”
You and Stefan are as quick as you can be and then you finish up by dressing him in a clean gown. He is finished, his skin pale, black bags under his eyes and he looks so tired but he tries to smile. It is one of the saddest things you have ever seen.
Before you move him to the bed you get a glass of clean water, a dish and your toothbrush and Kalodont. You help him to sit up on the trolley. Stefan keeps his hand in the middle of James' back to help him stay up.
“You don't mind us sharing do you?” And you hold the things up for James to see. Such a small thing but it nearly undoes him and you pretend not to notice whilst you squeeze some of the toothpaste onto the toothbrush and give it to him to clean his teeth with.
“Spit into here.” You indicate the bowl and he brushes using the glass of water. Afterwards you tuck the brush and paste into your pocket so you don't forget to take it back with you.
“Clean,” he mumbles.
“Clean,” you agree.
You give him some more water to drink and then move him into the bed. He tries to help you, wincing as his body touches the mattress.
“Stefan what do we do about his meals?” you ask and Stefan gestures to the bowls on the side. You walk over and look at them, your nose curling at the smell.
“Jesus,” you whisper.
“We are supposed to give him a bowl twice a day but, he doesn't eat it and so they leave it until the next day, or the one after that, even when its new its usually cold and...” he stops.
“And?”
“And they show him when they spit in it and then try to make him eat it...it just makes him vomit, gives him diarrhoea....” Stefan looks at the patient and then back at you “I honesty don't know sometimes how he survives on the little he eats and that is only because they...” he ducks his head “...force feed him.”
You own stomach heaves and you hear a noise, you both turn and James is trying to say no. There is panic in his eyes, he thinks you are going to make him eat it.
“Too tired, not hungry,” he tries to tell you. You return to his bedside. He is shaking his head and you pat his shoulder. “You don't have to eat it, we won't make you I promise.” You will worry about food later. You need to get him on the drip, you need to let him sleep, he is exhausted.
You do not strap him down. He is in no fit state to move yet alone try and escape.
“The morphine, where is it normally kept?” you ask Stefan.
He blushes, and you know he knows where there is a supply. “Wait a moment,” you say.
You start the saline solution drip for hydration and then ask him to show you where the morphine is kept. You tell James you will be back and then you and Stefan head to where the morphine is filched from. There is a supply that hasn't been taken yet so you take well over half of it and work out a place with him that you can keep it hidden so you can use it when you are on duty.
You take some back with you and inject it into the drip.
Although James is so tired, you can see from the way his body is tensed, the uneven way he is breathing he is in a lot of pain and you know the moment the morphine hits his bloodstream and you see his body begin to relax. Stefan goes to use the restraints attached to the bed but you tell him they will not be necessary. From the marks and scarring on the patients upper arms you can tell how tight the restraints have been kept in the past.
He hesitates. “But it is a rule.”
“I can imagine. We need to let him sleep on his side to take pressure of those sores, if anyone asks just tell them that is what I said, its a legitimate reason.”
You touch James' shoulder.
“James, later I will need to put the straps on but for now I want you to move onto your left side, is that all right with you?”
He can barely open his eyes, but he nods - and you and Stefan move him over making sure that his left arm is not trapped under him. His right arm you leave settled over his chest so the drip can continue to feed its much needed contents into his body.
You turn and look around the room.
“Can you get some bags we can use to put all this rubbish in?” you ask Stefan.
“I can do more than that, I can get a cup of something hot to drink as well,” Stefan smiles at you and you burst into tears which startles both you and him.
“Hey...hey its not that bad,” he tries to joke, patting you on the shoulder.
You are crying quietly. You don't want to wake James. You had no idea you were going to cry and you find it difficult to speak. Stefan pats his pockets and then turns and grabs a piece of the flannelette cloth you haven't used and hands it to you.
You nod your thanks and try to pull yourself together.
“Back in a moment,” he smiles at you, and leaves the room.
As you dry your eyes, you begin to walk around the room picking up rubbish and debris and putting it all in a pile. The last few days have been hard for you, but not as hard as finding James here. By the time Stefan returns with the bags and the promised hot drink, you are more yourself and you both start putting everything you can find into the bags. Stefan wheels the trolleys out and then returns with one of them and fresh water and you both clean down as many surfaces as you can. By the time you are finished you are both in need of a rest.
The room does not look much better but it is cleaner. All the food, dishes and rubbish have been placed in the sacks and Stefan will wheel them to the incinerator room later. But for now you both sit quietly, both keeping your thoughts to yourselves. You realise that Stefan is one of those people who other people find relaxing to be with. There is no pressure in his company and you feel he is going to make a good friend.
You look over at James. He has pulled his legs up and is curled up on his side. His face looks relaxed, his hair shorter, cleaner but you know what his hospital gown and the blankets are hiding.
Stefan looks at his watch. It is 3pm already, you have both missed lunch. You tell him you are not hungry and to go ahead and get something, you will work through the paperwork on the table. Stefan looks over at James and you know he is worried about leaving you alone as James is not strapped down, but he can see he is out for the count. There is certainly no danger of anything happening. He promises to come back and relieve you at 4pm to give you a chance to eat and stretch your legs.
You go over to the table and chair and sit down. Paperwork is strewn on the top the desk and before he goes he shows you the charts you are to complete and the regular checks you are expected to make, some make sense, some do not - but you pay attention, you don’t want to get anything wrong.
The next hour goes quietly. You check James regularly and you can see that his sleep is deep and he doesn't seem to be dreaming. To see him this way hurts so much and inside you feel sick. Every so often one of the guards outside the room checks in with you. The door is left open so if any problems arise they will hear immediately.
At 4pm Stefan reappears to cover for you and then half an hour later you are back in the room. You had no appetite, you could not eat so you bring a mug of hot soup back with you to keep you going. Stefan takes the opportunity to start taking the rubbish you have both piled outside the door away.
You look at the warm soup. You don't think you could stomach it, not after what you have seen today, but when you smell the soup you suddenly think of James. The soup is minestrone and you know the taste is good, perhaps you can get him to drink some of it.
You put the soup on the side table next to the bed and also pour a fresh cup of water. Then gently you put your hand on his shoulder and shake him.
“James.” You keep your voice quiet and level so as not to scare him but you still see utter panic when his eyes open. He trembles and you can see his breathing start to hitch.
“Its all right...its all right,” you try to reassure him. When he sees it's you the panic begins to leave and instead he tries to smile.
“I thought I dreamt you,” he says, his voice barely makes a sound. You help him move, help him to sit up making sure the drip stays disentangled and his left arm is comfortable.
You smile and move to sit on the bed reaching out to stroke some hair away from his eyes.
“I have some soup I would like you to try and drink.”
Wariness creeps into is eyes.
“Its part of my lunch, not...not what they usually give you.”
You pick up the mug and hold it so he can see and smell it. He doesn't say anything but you actually hear his stomach gurgle.
“Sign of approval,” and you laugh, you can't help it. “Minestrone.”
He still just looks at it so you take a sip and then offer it to him. He hesitantly reaches for it and you help him until he then moves forward and sips from the mug. His eyes close and when you tilt the mug away you can see he has taken some.
“Nice?” you ask.
In response he moves your hand forward again and drinks some more. It takes him a while but he drinks all of it and whilst doing so Stefan comes back in and sees what you are doing. He doesn't say anything.
When James has finished he sits back against the bed, pale, but his cheeks are flushed. You know there is a chance he may bring it all back up again but he needs to take in food and you don't know how else to get him to eat.
“Water?” you ask and you help him drink, warning him not to take too much on top of the soup.
You have less than an hour of your shift left and you know when the next nurse comes on duty James will need to be strapped in. You hate the idea but you know it has to be that way. You have to obey the rules until you settle in, until they learn to trust you and then you can start trying to change things permanently.
“I'm sorry but I'll have to put the straps back on,” you say.
He looks away from you. But nods, he understands.
“Before we do though do you need to relieve yourself?” You are ever the nurse and he turns to look at you again, wide eyed, and then looks down at the bed clothes. “I can't take you to the toilet. I don't think you would make it but we do have....” You see his embarrassment and think fast “....a bedpan Stefan can help you with,” you finish up.
For a moment he doesn't move but then he looks back at you and tries to smile and all you want to do is reach over and hug him.
Instead you stand up and turn to Stefan.
“Is that all right?” you ask. “I'll wait outside,” you add and with that you quickly leave the room. You have helped hundreds of bedridden men pee in your time, but this one needs to start having his dignity given back to him and if you can, you will in any way possible.
After they finish, Stefan helps you strap James down but you keep the bindings loose. You know the next nurse will tighten them and it breaks your heart.
James is one step away from being asleep. You change the IV bag and inject another does of morphine into the drip.
“I won't be here when you wake but I will be back. I promise,” you tell him and you are not sure if he has taken in what you are saying as within seconds he is asleep again.
At the end of your shift another nurse comes to takes your place. She immediately sees the clean room, the clean bed, and bristles, her mouth tightens - but before you can say anything the older guard that helped you earlier walks in. He is angry, annoyed and tells both of you to come out into the corridor.
In front of the other guards, you both stand there and you listen in awe as he disciplines you both.
“I have had enough of spending my shift having to put up with the disgusting smell coming from the American's room so...” he points at you whilst looking at the other woman “...I have told this one I am not much pleased by it. I've had to spend all day telling her to clean him up, to clean the pigsty of a room before I will spend any more of my time in there.”
Neither of you move.
“Do you understand, or do I have to repeat myself?” he bellows and you both jump.
You both nod.
You can't believe it, he has covered for you and Stefan.
“I hope so!” he growls, and then dismisses you both, walking off down the corridor.
You exchange looks and the other woman laughs shakily.
“You should have seen him, he was apoplectic earlier!” you whisper consiprationally. “I thought he was going to have a heart attack.”
You are trying not to smile. She believes you, and more importantly she believes him.
You show her the paperwork you have filled in, but you can see she is not interested. She tells you that you will be called for if you are needed, and that you are dismissed until tomorrow. Suddenly nothing seems humorous any more. You want to stay, you want to tell her that if she hurts him in any way you will kill her, you don't want to leave James but you have to.
You have no option other than to return to the dormitory, tired, worn out, exhausted.
This morning you did not think anything could get any worse. You were so wrong.
When you reach the dormitory two woman are shouting at each other. Stefan is lying on his bunk and pretends to ignore you. You listen to the argument. One of the women is accusing the other of stealing her things, her shampoo, scissors, even her goddamn brush and you duck your head so they don't see you smile.
You are going to take a shower and then drop into bed and hopefully sleep. Those are your plans, but when the last light is turned out you are still awake, your eyes feel like they are full of grit, your stomach hurts. Thoughts are going around and around in your mind, thoughts of James in the field camp, thoughts of what has happened to him, of what Stefan has told you.
Below you somewhere is James. Is he awake? Is he in pain? You know the other nurse will have turned off the drip, will have tightened the straps.
Finally, exhausted, your mind cannot take any more. You curl up in the bed, and cry yourself to sleep quietly with your blanket stuffed in your mouth so the others do not hear you.
*
Part Two - James Barnes
The doctors have been working on what remains of his left arm. The stub is causing problems. They keep reopening it to see if they can run electrical currents through it, and if so what nerves are sensitive to them.
Why? Why can't they just leave it alone? Why can't they just leave me alone? Please let them leave me alone, please God no more.
One of the doctors stitches the wound up with thick black cotton, not caring that the skin is splitting, or that not all of the flesh and bone is even covered. After all they will probably have to reopen it the next day. The marrow in the bone is degenerating faster than Zola's malfunctioning serum can repair it. Each time the probes are forced into the open bone, it causes agony for James but they take no notice. It is work that must be carried out.
Afterwards though, one of them may be kind enough to remember to ask the nurse to increase James' pain medication for that day. Of course, the nurses agree and nothing is done.
James is exhausted. He is lying on a table in the Main Room, praying they have finished with him for today. His nerves are torn to shreds, his bones ache, he has already vomited and he can smell the stink of the burns on his body. His skin itches like mad.
He tries to think of Steve and home. He closes his eyes and tries to pretend the noises around him are of elsewhere. Tries to pretend that the left hand he does not have any more isn't hurting so much he wants to tear it off. Doesn't want to see the flesh sewn and puffy from the latest round of tests. He has stopped asking why they are so concerned with the stump, why they won't leave it alone. They never answer him, they don't even know or care what it is he is begging them about.
Two guards jostle him as they move him from the table to the trolley and he can't help but groan as the pain shoots through him. They have not done it deliberately - to these guards, he is dead meat. They wrinkle their noses at the smell of him and move away to allow the new nurse access. James keeps his eyes closed. He has seen enough for today, he doesn't want to think any more, doesn't want to have to take any more deep breathes. Doesn't want to grit his teeth to stop himself from crying out and begging them to stop.
He hears someone gasp and opens his eyes, but doesn't see the new nurse; she is behind him. He is still desperately trying to lose himself anywhere but here. His eyes have a thousand-yard stare, they see nothing.
Stefan looks at the new nurse. He is sure he saw a flash of something in her eyes when she saw the patient. Maybe it is just the state of him, the open wounds, the smell of his burnt flesh. Maybe it is just horror and pity. He is hoping this new nurse will help the patient. She knows the English language and seems different from the other staff. There is compassion in her eyes.
Her gaze does not leave the patient all the way back to the room. There is such shock in them. It is as if someone has taken her world and smashed it to pieces. She has gone pale and he can see she is breathing rapidly. She put her hand out once to touch the American and then hesitated and withdrew it, but not before he saw how her hand was trembling.
When they get back to the room, James is aware that the nurse and orderly are talking in low voices. She sounds familiar but he is too tired to wonder why. As they talk, the tone of her voice grows angry and he starts to worry. Has he done something wrong? Is he about to be punished?Please don't use the baton, he prays.
Instead of being transferred to the bed he is kept on the trolley and he feels it moved to the side of the room and a pillow is placed gently under his head. He opens his eyes and sees her. She is talking and he doesn't know the words are directed at him until he realises he understands them. That accent, those words, he knows them. He has heard her talk before but his mind cannot keep hold of the thought.
“James, I need you to drink some water,” her voice is quiet, gentle. She bends over him and as he looks at her she gently slips her hand under his neck to help him so he can drink from the cup she is holding.
Those eyes, he knows them. He has seen them before.
She helps him to drink. The water is a godsend, cool. She then puts the cup down.
“We're going to change the bed first and then I'll try and clean you up a bit.” She tries to smile at him but he can see pain and tears in her eyes. She turns away as the orderly comes back into the room piled high with clean sheets, pillows, blankets and a guard in tow.
James knows her. He is sure he does, and she called him by his name.
Then he sees it.
Scooped up at the back but just as long as before. The thick blond plait. She is the nurse from the field camp. He swallows, and for the first time he feels a small amount of hope. He struggles to keep his eyes open and focused as she comes back to him and touches his shoulder.
“Can you take these for me? They may help with the pain.” She helps him drink again and gives him tablets to swallow. She makes sure they have gone down before allowing him to lie back down. His body is aching. He wants to talk to her but she moves away saying “I won't be a minute,” and then he watches as she leaves the room after talking with the guard.
Whilst she is away, Stefan and the guard remove the bedding and the mattress. He can smell it from where he lies. Months of dirt, urine and worse. The guard is the older one from before and he takes it in his stride and makes no comment.
Two more guards come in carrying a clean mattress. They lay it down on the bed frame before glancing at him, a look of shock on their faces as they leave. He gulps, what were they thinking? Looking at the freak, looking at the coward? Because that is how he sees himself.
They are not thinking that. These guards are Russian ex-soldiers. They are not from the Gulag and are not usually on duty here so this is the first time they have seen what is happening. They are horrified at the state of him. At what is being done.
The nurse returns with another smaller trolley, it has several bowls of water, cloths and a jug. She manoeuvres it so it is next to him.
He reaches out to touch her, suddenly unsure if she is real or not. It stops her in her tracks. He watches her bite her lip, he does not know of the feelings that are over whelming her. She gently runs her hand down his cheek and again tries to smile at him. There are tears threatening in her eyes. She pours some of the fresh water from the jug into the cup again and encourages him to drink.
Stefan watches and realises there is something there between them. She knows him that much is obvious. And he knows her.
“How do you want me to do this?” he asks, mainly to remind them that there are other people coming in and out of the room. The nurse starts and then moves away and over to the bed. She looks at what Stefan has brought with him. He is sure she is close to crying and is struggling. She clears her throat and pretends to look through what he has brought in.
“Rubber sheet. Then could you put several blankets over it, two sheets, then sheet and blankets. Its quite stuffy in here so I think he will be warm enough. Maybe fold a spare one over at the bottom of the bed just in case.”
“You know the others won't -”
She looks at him, her face hardening, and he stops mid-sentence.
He holds his hands up. “Okay.”
Whilst he works on the bed, she returns to the patient and James watches as she picks up a pair of scissors.
“I'm just going to cut some of the matted hair out. It won't hurt. I just need to move you slightly so I can get at it.” He feels her hands under his armpits as she helps him move up the trolley a bit and she uses the pillow to rest him on. As he moves he feels parts of his skin stretch and he bites his lip to stop from crying out. She is so gentle but he is so damaged that everything will hurt him.
She moves around the trolley he is laying on and he feels her hands, gentle on his head, and then the slight tug of the scissors as she starts to cut away his hair.
This is the first time it has been cut since he can remember. It is so long. It took a while to grow back after they had hacked it all off at the interrogation camp.
So how long have I been here? he thinks. The hair is filthy, matted, greasy and cutting it takes her a while. He closes his eyes, tries to breathe and just listen to the quietness around him, for the first time in a long time he feels a calmness in the room despite people moving around in it. When she has finished she uses a brush to comb out the hair left, careful not to tug at his scalp. Then she moves the trolley with the bowls and places several towels padded up around his shoulders, then one folded under his head.
James hears her rinse something in the bowl and then feels her hands stroking his hair downwards followed by the wet sponge. She moves the sponge downwards so that his hair is gently pulled away from his face. He feels her stop a few times and hears the snip of the scissors and then she starts again until he feels his hair is thoroughly wet. He can feel the warmth of the water on his scalp and he relaxes into her touch as she cleans his hair feeling her hands gently massage shampoo in. He breathes in the pleasant smell and has to clench his fist as he thinks briefly of home.
He hears the orderly come over to talk to her. Then whilst she finishes washing his hair, the orderly shaves the stubble of his face.
Next she gently wipes his face and neck, cleaning away months, maybe years of grime.
He has almost fallen asleep when it goes quiet and he opens his eyes. She has towel dried his hair and then removed the towels around his shoulders.
“Just get you more comfortable again.” She helps him move down and changes the pillow under his head.
“I need to cut this away to see...to see your wounds, is that all right?” she asks, and he realises she is talking about his gown.
His heart starts to hammer. He knows how he smells, he knows how dirty and unkempt his body is. He doesn't want her to see his body, doesn't want to because he feels ashamed. He can't help but clutch at the gown.
“I need to do this to help you, I need to help you get clean.” She lays her hand on his shoulder.
He tries to talk to her and she smiles at him but his voice is hoarse and not all of his words make sense. He closes his eyes and then opens them and tries again, trying to keep it simple so his fogged brain can cope with the words.
“I'm dirty.” His voice is rusty, full of the shame he feels.
She touches his cheek.
“I know, I know, but that's not your fault. This will help you feel better James. Please let me, if it hurts just tell me to stop and I will until you are ready again, I won't do anything you don't want me to.” She waits for him to nod, waits for his permission to touch his body and he gulps and then nods, closing his eyes and letting go of the material. He doesn't want to see her reaction to his body, to see what he thinks will be disgust in her eyes.
He feels her take the top of the gown and start to cut the material. She is quick; soon he is naked and he feels the air on his skin, but just as soon she covers his lower body with a sheet. Trying to give him as much dignity as she can.
He hears her move away and opens his eyes. She is talking quietly to both the orderly and the older guard, he watches as she writes something down and gives it to the guard and he leaves. He watches her, remembers her, the way she used to push her fringe away from her face and that long plait of hers, the softness of the hair curled up in it. Is she here to stay? Please don't let me be imaging this.
The orderly, Stefan, comes over and sees James looking at him. He tries to smile, and gestures to the dirty water and says something, but James doesn't understand. Then the nurse is back, holding a sheet that she starts to cut up to use as flannels. Stefan moves the trolley with the bowls of water out of the room but is not gone for long before he comes back with freshly filled ones. James wants to talk to the nurse but he senses they cannot talk with people around; the guard is looking in, and so instead he is content just to watch her move around. Always coming back to him, and always trying to smile at him although he can see she is hurting inside. Is that for me? he wonders.
The nurse and orderly stand each side of him and start rinsing the cloths and then they wipe them over his shoulders, down his right arm. The nurse works on his chest. They talk quietly and he listens to them. The language still sounds so strange; he thought he would be used to it by now but he isn't. They use a mild soap which helps with the more stubborn stains. He stares at the ceiling, tears pricking his eyes.
She leans over so he can see her, touches his shoulder gently.
“Try closing your eyes again,” she suggests, speaking to him in English, and moves a stray strand of hair from his forehead. He does. He lays there and concentrates on their hands, the feel of the cloths as they wipe away the dirt and the dried blood. He feels the care they take around his wounds. He hears Stefan leave the room several times whilst she continues to clean him, his chest, down to his navel and as her hands reach there he tenses, he can't help it.
“Its all right James. We'll try not to hurt you. Let us know if we do.”
Her attention turns to his left arm. He feels her fingers as they exam what has been done to it. Her touch is so light, so careful and gentle around the puffy flesh at the end. It stings and throbs but he tries not to make a noise. He wants to brave around her, wants to show her he is not totally defeated. Please help me God, please don't let me cry.
She exchanges words with the orderly, and he leaves the room for a moment. When he returns they go to start again. She touches his shoulder which is her way of saying she needs to speak with him, he looks up at her.
“We are going to turn you on your side so I can wash your back.” She waits for him to nod and then they help him turn. He feels the cloth glide over his shoulders, over his spine and then down over his buttocks. She tries to be as quick and as gentle she can but he knows there are open sores there and they sting as she tries to wipe of the dirt and worse. Don't think about it, he tells himself.
He listens as she talks to the orderly again. His replies seems to upset her. He can hear it in her voice. He wonders what it is they are saying.
When they move him back over she has placed a dry towel under him.
During this time the older guard has come back in, and after a brief word with the nurse gives her some jars and then leaves.
“James,” her voice is quiet and he opens his eyes. “James I need to...clean between your legs, I'm sorry but I need to.” She is trying to make it easy for him, trying to tell him it needs to be done. His eyes widen, his breathing hitches, his heart starts to beat faster and he shakes his head no. He can see she knew this would be his answer. He can't let her see what they have done, can't bear to see her disgust with him.
“There are sores on the inside of your thighs and around that area. They must be agony for you. I need to clean you. I'm a nurse, I've done this before, please let me help you, please.”
He closes his eyes still shaking his head, and he cannot help that he has started to cry. He tries so hard to stop. He hears her say something to the orderly and hears as he moves away. He doesn't want this woman to see the state of him, what he has been reduced to.
“James. I know you feel you can't trust anyone but you can trust me. I can see what they have done to you, I see the injuries, I'm a nurse, I have dealt with mens injuries before. Being clean will make you feel better, it will make you feel human again. I do understand please believe me...please trust me.” She strokes his hair.
He doesn't answer, feeling the sobs welling up. He can't do this any more, he can't cope. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling as tears roll down his face. What has he become?
She doesn't say anything more, she lets him cry her hand continues to stroke his hair. After what seems an age he feels himself start to calm. He tries to wipe his eyes, he feels so tired, his heart stops pounding and he looks at her.
“I'm sorry,” he chokes.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Her gaze shows that she means what she has said. There is so much compassion for him in their blueness.
Clenching his jaw, he finally nods and she knows he is letting her do what she needs to do.
“I'll be as fast as I can, if you want me to stop just say.” She makes sure he has understood before she moves away.
She fetches another sheet and this time lays it over his chest. He closes his eyes as he feels her push the other sheet up rather than take it away.
He realises there is only the two of them in the room. The door has been pulled to. He listens to her moving around, feels her cool hands on him, feels the cloth as she wipes him. She moves his legs and he tenses when he feels her hands on his genitals, she is being gentle but he can't help it. There is nothing sexual about it. She is as quick as she can be.
He clenches his right hand, digging his nails into his palm, concentrating on that pain but it doesn't stop the other pain from bleeding through. It hurts, it stings, the pain throbs deep down and makes him bite his lip. What is worse is the fact someone is seeing him like this. She is seeing him like it. What am I? What have I become? Tears prick his eyes again. Oh God, Steve help me, please help me. He doesn't even realise his mind begs for the help that will never arrive.
“I've nearly finished just bear with me for a few more minutes.”
He hears her walk away from the trolley, opens his eyes, and turns his head to watch her. She is getting one of the small jars the guard brought in, she sees him watching and shows him it.
“Salve, it should help. Then we just need to clean your legs and feet.”
When he feels the cream it is cold and stings but then he feels it start to soothe the hot skin. He feels cleaner. She moves the sheet back over his groin and then washes her hands in the water again and goes to the door.
He hears her say something and the orderly comes back in; he takes the bowls away to change the water and she gets some clean cloths and when he comes back they work on washing his legs and feet.
She uses the salve again on the back of his calves.
“We're just going to move you onto your side again for a moment so I can put some of this on your back. It won't be for long.” The orderly helps her move him again and he feels her apply it to his shoulder blades and then lower on his buttocks. He tenses as she applies the cream to the sensitive area, and she is quick so as to cause him as less discomfort and embarrassment as possible.
They move him back. She washes her hands and applies some to the wounds on his chest. She asks the orderly to rub some other cream into the scar on his right arm where he tried to kill himself. He listens as she washes her hands. They are starting to look red and he wonders how sore they get.
She then takes another jar and uses the cream in it on the stub of his arm. It stings and it not so soothing as the other one, but then after a few moments he feels the pain ebb and the skin starts to numb. She then dresses the stub covering it in fresh bandages.
Then they are finished and the orderly grabs a clean hospital gown which they dress him in. They move the trolley over to the bed.
Before moving him she has one last thing for him to do and she hands him a toothbrush and indicates for him to clean his teeth. This one small thing nearly breaks him. He cannot remember the last time he did such a mundane thing as brush his teeth. The taste of the toothpaste takes him right home to the shared bathroom at Steve's flat. Such a small thing to have such an immense reaction to. He even wonders if toothpastes over the world all taste the same.
The nurse helps him drink some more water, and between them they move him onto the clean bed. The sheets are cool against his skin. He struggles to try and help them as much as he can. He can already remember what dignity felt like.
He is trying to keep his eyes open but he is finding it difficult. He needs to sleep. His body feels more relaxed than it has done in a long time. He feels clean. He cannot remember the last time he felt like this.
He hears them talking again and looks over to see what they are doing. He sees the orderly gesture to where they keep the food bowls and his heart plummets. Please don't say she is going to make him eat the mush they give him; the bowls are full of old liquidised food that the other nurses have spat in. His stomach rolls at the thought of it.
“No,” he tries to say, and Stefan turns to look at him. He says something and the nurse turns away from the food, disgust on her face. They converse more but then they hear him as he tries to say no again.
She comes over.
Don't make me eat it, please, don't make me.
He swallows wanting to put his thoughts into words but she speaks first.
“I can try and find some that is fresher,” she says to him, but before she can finish he shakes his head.
He has to convince her he doesn't want the food, couldn't bear to eat it.
“Too tired,” he says quietly.
She nods. “You don't have to eat it, we won't make you I promise.” She understands. Having nothing is better than eating the slop they give him.
Normally he is strapped down right away, the drip reinserted but kept off - but when she reattaches the drip he actually feels the coolness of the fluids running into his arm. He closes his eyes, feeling the cleanness of his body but his bones still ache and his ears are humming from where he is so tired. He doesn't realise that she leaves the room for a short while and it only seems seconds later he opens his eyes to see her inject something into the drip. Morphine. Slowly the pain starts to ebb away until it is at least manageable.
“James, I will need to put the straps on later - but for now I want you to move onto your left side, is that all right with you?”
He nods and they help him roll over, she holds what remains of his left arm so it is laid out and he is not leaning on it. It is so long since he has been able to sleep that way, so long since he hasn't slept pressing the sores on his body into the filthy mess of the bed. He wants to say thank you but he is so tired, instead he listens to them talking, he doesn't know what they are saying but the low key conversation is soothing.
He falls asleep, and for once he doesn't dream.
He doesn't know how much time has gone by when she awakens him by gently shaking his shoulder, talking to him, calling his name. Sudden panic flares in his chest until he realises it is her.
“I thought I dreamt you,” he says, his voice catching.
She smiles and shakes her head and then helps him sit up. He is becoming aware of the smell of food in the room, a pleasant smell which makes his mouth water. There are times when the nursing staff bring their own meals with them and eat at the table. Their food always smells so much better than the slop he is given and it makes him feel so hungry.
She sits next to him on the edge of the bed and reaches over to pick something up from the bedside cabinet.
“I have some soup I would like you to try and drink.”
Immediately his stomach clenches at the thought of the slop, but instead she shows him a mug full of what looks like vegetable soup. It looks and smells so inviting.
“Its part of my lunch, not what they usually give you.”
Before he can speak, his stomach does for him and he feels the hunger pangs.
“Sign of approval,” she laughs. It catches him unaware - he has never seen her laugh before. “Minestrone,” she explains, tipping the mug forward. She takes a sip herself and then offers it back to him. By now he is starving, his stomach has woken up, it needs food.
As the soup enters his mouth he feels like he has never tasted anything so wonderful before. The warmth floods him, the taste makes him close his eyes. The pieces of vegetable are small but it is the first solid food he has had in a long time.
“Nice?” She smiles at him and he nods, pulling the mug back to drink more.
“Not too fast,” she warns, her hand helps keep the mug steady as he drinks.
By the time he finishes he feels exhausted. How is that possible when all he has done is drink some soup? He can still taste it, feel it going down and into his stomach, such a warmth. It was salty, and she offers him a small drink of water.
When he has finished she places her hand on his arm, the look on her face has grown sad, he wishes he could make her laugh again.
“I'm sorry, but I have to put the straps on.”
He feels something well up in him. He should have known it wouldn't last. He knows there is a rota and deep down he knew she wasn't here to stay with him. He wants to ask her if she will stay, to ask her not to leave him but she speaks before he does.
“Before we do though do you need to relieve yourself?”
He nearly missed her question and then it dawns on him what she asked him and he feels like he wants to blush. After all she has done today and yet this embarrasses him. Perhaps because he feels like a human being again.
“I can't take you to the toilet, I don't think you would make it but we do have...” she hesitates as if reading his mind “....a bed pan that Stefan can help you with.”
Stefan hears and comes over after picking up something covered with a cloth and she stands up. Her cheeks are slightly pink as as she has picked up James' embarrassment.
“I'll wait outside,” he hears her say and she disappears out of the room, pulling the door almost closed.
After Stefan helps him, she returns and they both help him lie on his back. He is starting to feel the pain flooding back and it makes him feel nauseous. They lay the straps over him but do not tighten them. He closes his eyes and listens as she sees to the drip in his arm. After a few minutes he feels something flood into his bloodstream. The pain begins to ebb.
“I won't be here when you wake, but I will be back I promise,” is the last thing he hears her whisper and then he is asleep.
Perhaps she can read his mind?
*
He struggles to open his eyes. Time must have flown by, the main light is off and the room is darker. The pain is back. When he turns his head to look over it is one of the other nurses sat at the table with a lamp on. She is flicking through magazines and he knows it is useless to ask her for help. He tries to move but the straps won't let him, they are so tight, someone has moved his right arm out of the bed so the strap buckle bites into his flesh. He looks up at the drip, there is fluid there but he is guessing it is switched off.
His body is hurting. It seems to have woken back up to remind him of all that has been done to violate it. A pain hits him and he can feel the muscles in his legs cramping. He is sweating heavily and his mouth is dry. Was it all a dream? Did he imagine the other nurse, his nurse? No. Please don't do that to me, he prays.
As he turns his head back he smells the soap she used on his hair, feels that it is shorter now. The bed is cleaner. He knows she was here. She is real.
He needs to use the bathroom. He knows if he wets himself he will be left to lie in the mess, and he also knows they will punish him with the baton but his bladder is pressing painfully. “Please...” he says, but he doesn't know if he speaks or if the nurse just pretends she doesn't hear him.
As another bout of pain hits him his body wants to curl in on itself, but it can't. It is one of the pains he gets from the serum, it is working on something in his body and he knows it will continue for hours, getting worse until his cries make the nurses gag him. Pain cramps more of his muscles and he can't help but let go and he feels the warm liquid soak into the bed clothes. The warmth slowly turns to cold and he feels shamed. The bed was clean and now he has soiled it, he should have tried harder to hang on. But for how long? his mind asks and he has no answer.
He feels so alone. Please God bring her back, please bring her back.
“For Gods sake Barnes stop bleating.” A memory of a voice from out of no where hits him.
“Aw, come on Stevie...”
Steve's voice. They were bickering, he remembers. And a sound escapes him that makes the nurse look up. Seeing nothing amiss she looks back down and goes back to reading her magazines, let the American pig suffer.
They are in Steve's flat, just the two of them. Steve has persuaded Bucky to model for him. Its been hours already, and Bucky is ansty. He feels uncomfortable; he is not used to sitting around doing nothing.
“It hasn't been hours. We've been...” Steve looks at his watch “...eleven minutes.” He peers over the top of his sketch pad at Bucky and smiles one of those smiles that makes Bucky want to walk over there, grab the pad, throw it away, throw Steve to the floor and...
“This is for posterity, you know,” Steve's voice breaks in again. The window is open and somewhere someone has the radio on playing Jimmy Dorsey's 'I'll Never Smile Again.'
Bucky looks over at Steve, concentrating, head bowed over the page, blond hair falling over his eyes, pencil in hand. He feels like time has stopped still. He gets up from where he is sitting and Steve looks up.
“Aw Buck, what...” The look on Bucky's face stops him, and Bucky takes the pad and pencil out of his hand. Steve is now aware of the music, the curtains fluttering at the window, the shaft of light falling on the carpet, everything seems to have slowed, everything but his heart beat.
They are by themselves. No one can see them.
Bucky pulls him to his feet and wraps one arm around Steve's waist and holds his left hand up and slowly starts to dance with Steve following suit. Steve has never danced with a girl, but he has danced with Bucky and he fits perfectly into the steps looking up at those beautiful blue eyes. Neither smiles, just looks at each other whilst they move, the music saying all they want to say to each other.
I'll never smile again
Until I smile at you
I'll never laugh again
What good would it do
For tears would fill my eyes
My heart would realize
That our romance is true...
At the end of the song, Bucky is holding Steve close and Bucky can feel the beating of both their hearts. They stop and stand, looking at each other.
Steve clears his throat but his words are still fogged. “This isn't going to get you out of posing you know.”
Bucky smiles down at him.
“Wanna bet?” His voice is husky as he pulls Steve's body into his.
All these years later James remembers those words, remembers the feel of Steve's body so close to his, remembers what he has lost, and sobs as the nurse sighs and slams her magazine down and gets up to go and silence the Amerikanskiy svin'ya. The American pig.
- 8
- 9
- 10
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

A Bucky Barnes Winter Soldier Fic - The Constant