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I'm Friends with the Monster That's Under My Bed	By : DevilnBlue Category: Marvel Verse Movies > Captain America Views: 146 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Captain America. The creation belong to the creators and publishers that created them. This is purely fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 1-Chapter One
- 1
Hello Everyone Hopeless Blue Kiss here. I wanted to do a little fanfic for my birthday and I hope you enjoy. Please read and revew.
I’m Friends With the Monster That’s Under My Bed
Chapter One: Extraction
Bang!
It was supposed to be empty.
Bang!
Another dead lead.
Bang!
Sam and Steve opted to split up to cover more ground. They had believed the occupants long since abandoned the shell of an underground Hydra hideout. It was nestled in the middle of a Godless, swampy patch of America, that no one cared about anymore.
Bang!
God were they wrong.
Bang!
So damn wrong.
Sam was used to rescuing military personnel from hostile and otherwise unreachable areas. As a former U.S. Air Force Pararescue specialist, missions of this kind of intensity were par for the course. He was doing this kind of thing long before he had the great misfortune to catch the eye of a cocky, blonde from Brooklyn. Not just anyone could be a PJ or for that matter qualify to be a test pilot for the EXO-7 Falcon program. So, Sam could handle his own, even years retired and playing superhero with a 100-year-old super soldier.
It was engrained in every marrow of his being to rescue and treat wounded soldiers. That kind of intense training was hard to forget even in civilian life. So, it was no surprise that he was able to put his skill to work. Even if it was a dead lead, he took his mission seriously. Sam stalked silently through the narrow hallways that could barely fit one grown man at a time. He stilled at the faintest of noises before he moved on. Methodically he checked each room. He was quick to take anything that might help in finding Bucky before quietly exited out and marking the door with a small x to remind him that he had already checked.
It was the faint humming of power, the ancient creaking of ancient gears, and a large fan turning that had him licking his lips in anticipation and gripping his gun all the tighter in his gloved hands. He quickly reached for his Stark issued communicator to let Steve know that he might have found something. But then cursed softly to himself when he realized it wasn’t attached to his head anymore.
‘Shit, where did I lose it?’ he thought. His one unoccupied hand quickly checking his collar to make sure it hadn’t somehow slipped off his ear and into the opening of his suit. It wasn’t there. Then it dawned on him.
It could have been lost half an hour ago when he had been slammed into by a brick wall of a person, who came careening towards him as if hopped up on too much Red Bull. The Hydra agent’s shield was drawn high to deflect any bullets, his figure hunched over to minimize any opening for Sam to fire at with his gun. So, Sam’s only option was to shoot the man in the foot when he realized he was wasting precious bullets on the shield. The man had stumbled and manage to tumble into Sam anyway, this time with last momentum. But clearly it was enough to knock something loose as he took the brunt of the fall.
Quickly he scrambled up from underneath the Hydra agent. His gloved hand covering the man’s mouth before his yowls of pain and frustration could get any louder. Sam quickly knocked the agent out with his gun before he could take a cyanide pill. Then quickly hogtied him and dragged him further down the hallway to one of the room’s he had just exited.
It had been strenuous work because it was clear the newly captive agent hadn’t skipped on any meals. So, he could have dropped his communicator when he had been dragging the guy away to hide his unconscious body. Or when the guy collided with him in his attempt to shift his pained foot. Either way, there was no way Sam was going to go back. That had been many hallways ago in this bunker-like labyrinth.
Sam’s one-handedly shifted through his utility belt to make sure he still had his med kit, extra ammo, and any other knickknacks that might help him out of a sticky situation. Once reassured he holstered his handgun and switched to a Brugger & Thomet APC10 Pro Semi-Automatic rifle that Natasha had gifted to him on his last birthday.
The weight felt good and reassuring in his gloved hands as he followed the humming of electrical cords and the distinctive whooshing of machine fans trying to cool something big off. He couldn’t meticulously mark the doors like he did before with his hands mostly occupied. So, he made sure a medium sized canister or red sand was left open to liberally leave a thin trail of sand as he moved, so that he could find his way back and so Steve would know where to find him once the action started.
Sam licked his lips once more in anticipation as he drew closer to what appeared to be a well maintained and well-lit hallway that ended at a set of newly installed double-doors. It was a stark contrast to the poorly maintained and crumbling infrastructure that he had feared would collapse on top of him at any moment.
He took a deep shuddering breath. Another quick peek around the corner again to make sure no one was occupying the hallway. Seeing that the coast was clear, he began to purposely march down the hallway. His weapon at the ready.
He paused for a moment to peak discreetly inside the small window of the door to make sure if there was a reason to make a fuss and waste some bullets. However, what he saw had him frozen and gritting his teeth in anger as he saw all too familiar blue eyes, pained and minutely widening in fear at the occupants inside. Bucky was strapped down into an electric chair inside of a military styled operating theater. His muffled pleading falling on deaf ears as his heaving bare chest glistened in sweat.
The Winter’s Soldier’s pleading soon turned to muffled screams through, what appeared to be, his mouth guard. His body began to writhe in pain; thrashing against his binds until the technician eased up on the juice when the lights began to flicker.
“They have us stuck in this old, abandoned bunker. But that’s okay. One more good shock and I’m sure the asset will be ready to obey…” One of the doctor’s said thoughtfully after looking critically at Bucky as if he was a malfunctioning toy.
Sam couldn’t let this continue. He wouldn’t wish that kind of treatment and cruelty on his worst enemy. So, without any further thought he used his booted foot to kick the door of the open with a loud, echoing boom.
His gloved hand quickly tossing in a smoke bomb to help hide his presence even as he quickly marked all the targets in his head and the clear victim strapped to an electric chair.
Sam couldn’t rightly remember shooting the three scientists huddled around Bucky, before the smoke obscured him from view. They had been too busy scratching down notes on their notepads to notice him slowly converging in on them like an angry, black thundercloud. His need for vengeance was too swift for them to do no more than lift their heads in utter shock and horror before they fell with a single shot.
The technician quickly tried to flip the switch to expediate the process. But with the help of his Falcon goggles, that could recognize heat signatures, Sam was quickly able to put a bullet through the man’s wrist before he could touch it. Then he followed the shot closely up with another shot to the technician’s head, killing him instantly.
His eyes quickly roamed the room for more targets that dared to flee or hide in wait. He wanted to go to Bucky and untie him. But he couldn’t be distracted and fall to an ambush. So, Sam forced himself to carefully stalk the perimeter, looking for heat signatures.
The scientists that didn’t die quickly, laid there bleeding on the floor at his feet. Dead or close to dead with the fatal shots he had given them.
He made sure to kick one doctor in the face, hearing the sickeningly satisfying crunch of a nose and glasses mashing together in meaty flesh, followed closely on the heels of a pained groan. There was no remorse spared for them. Not when they were willing participants in such inhumane acts. No, all concern was reserved for the dreadfully pale, tan man that was still strapped in as the smoke started to slowly clear.
Sam’s gun was still hot and smelling of gunpowder residue as he quickly holstered it in order to free both of his hands. Sam converged on Bucky’s prone form locked in that Goddamn chair. A steady stream of curse words unfurling hot and ready, from his lips. His gloved hands were snatching, unbuckling, pulling, cutting any plug, belt or cord he could find attached to the Winter Soldier. He even paused in his ministrations to put a round of bullets into the machine the dead technician had tried to activate.
Sam didn’t even pause to think what further damage he was doing by unplugging things he clearly knew nothing about. That if he had one iota of rationality inside his head, then he would have properly shut it down and kept one of the scientists alive. Instead, he killed them all in white, blinding rage and shot the machine before it could pump whatever crude fluid into his best friend’s childhood buddy.
He had seen Bucky like this before. Not in person, but in grainy black and white pictures from the files that Natasha was able to recover from one of the shell Hydra bases. Those photos and the tight, spidery notes of how the subject responded to certain methods of discipline and ‘corrective therapy’ had temporarily replaced the nightmare images of Riley free-falling for what seemed like eternity. Those nightmares still probably haunted big-hearted Steve no matter how many time Sam tried to reassure him that he couldn’t have known his best friend could survive that fall.
‘But what if it had been Riley? If there had been a snowball’s chance that my guy was alive and was having his humanity slowly peeled away like an onion and turned more and more into a weapon, wouldn’t you—’ Sam shook his head viciously until his ears rung from destructive thoughts like that. He could understand why Steve was still worrying the matter like a dog with a bone.
It was no ones’ fault, but the monsters that found him and turned poor Bucky into a living, breathing weapon. Those grainy pictures of his thighs and arms strapped to the chair to keep him still; rubber mouth grip forced between his teeth to stop him from biting his tongue or swallowing it through the violent shocks that racked his poor body. All of that could not compare to seeing it in person.
Sam’s fingers simply shook with both adrenaline and fear as he struggled to free what could potentially be someone who could kill him in the next available heartbeat.
‘What was one of the scientists murmuring again, above Barnes’ pleads? Longing, rusted, furnace, daybreak?’ He was still learning Russian from Natasha. Mainly swear words, but still enough to hold a stinted conversation with her when she refused to speak anything, but Russian on one of her bad days.
In hindsight, he really should have kept one of the scientists alive to ask them what they had done to Bucky. But the violent way Bucky’s body began to react to the electrical shock before he burst through the door. It just seemed wise at the time to stop everything before it grew worse. Sam even made sure to shoot the man speaking in Russian in the throat before he could say anything more than the wet, squelching, rasping sounds of his throat filling up with blood and escaping oxygen.
Again, Sam wondered if those words were supposed to have meaning. Bucky had yet to open his eyes or move an inch since the shooting started. It was frighteningly eerie to see the svelte man so full of life and ferocity one moment, now laid out limp like a marionette doll without it strings. With each accidental brush of Sam’s hand against Bucky’s skin, the Winter Soldier’s tense, muscles stayed taut and frozen as if he was standing on a precipice; breath shallow.
Sam swore.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck. This can’t be happening. This shouldn’t be happening. This should have been another dead lead and then I was going to tell Cap that we should just put this shit to bed for a while. That I needed to get back to work. If I had a job left after that crazy ass roadtrip we’ve been on looking for you. That you would turn up when he was ready. Not this… never this. Not even on my worst enemy.” Sam babbled out shakily to himself as he gently yanked out the last IV drip of whatever Hydra brainwash juice, they put in him.
He was practically straddling the Winter Soldier at this point. His knee forced between Bucky’s trunk-like thighs as he gently teased out the rubber mouth guard. His nose wrinkled instinctively at the heavy trail of slobber that followed, before he tossed it carelessly over his shoulder and ran his gloved fingers gently over Bucky’s bare arms and then his stubbled face. His sharp, chocolate brown eyes scanned for any visible injuries before zeroing in on those unresponsive close lids.
Well, that was until Sam gave his unshaven jaw a healthy smack, to draw out those predatory blues. ‘There we go. There is my favorite jackass,’ Sam thought. He managed to scrounge up a shaky smile even as his insides squirmed uncomfortably when he once more remembered what happened to him the last time, he was this close. Something along the lines of being tossed across a room by his jaw. But he had been too high on adrenaline and a growing urge to protect this living weapon to think much about how it could potentially be turned against him.
“Hey, look at me man. I’m not going to lie. I still hate you. Hate ya really bad. But you are not a monster James Buchanan Barnes. I would never waste my time and risk my life trying to save a monster. So, don’t you dare turn me into a liar,” he grounded out, between clenched teeth.
Sam didn’t know where he was really going with that, but he felt like it needed to be said. Believed in those words whole-heartedly because he didn’t come all this way to some backwaters super Nazi facility to be killed. Not by HYDRA and not by the man whose eyes had not left him since his first slap. Not when Sam still had his Mama’s annual pecan pie chilling in the fridge, just begging for some whip crème and the viewing of an already taped Carolina Panthers versus the New Orleans Saints.
xXx
Those steel blue eyes seem to eat up every word; but it wasn’t enough. He starved for more. Need more, because this was his soulmate.
Those intoxicating words fed his soul and sustained him in a way that not even the gospel, sustenance, or air itself could. It was sacrilegious, but it was true. God and Steve Rogers had abandoned him long ago, on those cold, lonely nights in captivity. The first few weeks he desperately believed that his best bud, Steve Rogers would burst through one of the many steel doors he was locked behind and come save the day. He had held stubbornly onto his memories and fought valiantly against his Hydra captors. He cursed, punched and kicked until someone pistol whipped him, or sucker punched him in the guts.
It didn’t matter if he was kneeling, sitting, standing, laying on his measly sleeping pallet, or even as he was being dragged out kicking and screaming to another operation, he had silently recited scripture; scripture that he had learned at the knee of his Ma to keep him sane. He recited and prayed for a holy entity that never came. His prayers of rescue slowly turning to pleas for everything to just end as weeks dragged into months. That if God ever loved him, that he would make everything stop hurting and just let him die.
Bucky had tried so desperately to stay righteous. But it was hard to do when he was forced to stay awake, without anesthetics as they severed his arm from his body and began to meticulously engrain a metal arm onto his body. When his fevered body would reject one arm, they shot him with the bastardized super soldier serum and tried again, and again, and again. Bucky couldn’t count how many intense training and brainwashing sessions he had gone through until his hope and humanity had been whittled out of him. His body had been cut and broken down to a bloody pulp so that Hydra could nurse and rebuild him into the perfect Soviet killing machine.
Bucky was already slowly remembering the desperate pleas and cries of his victims. The sound was ringing in his ear. The all too familiar, cloying smell of metallic blood and gunpowder felt all too familiar. That was why the scientists were promptly putting his brain through the blender again before they stored him away like some expensive, killer doll in his cryonic freezer. He wasn’t a good person. He had killed too many to be considered good.
However, if this man could fearlessly straddle him, slap him, and find something redeemable about him, who was he to deny it? Bucky desperately wanted to believe that there was someone out there that could see that he was more man than monster. That he was worthy of redemption and love without nostalgia or guilt being the main motivator.
The former asset instinctively encircled his trembling arms around Sam’s thick waist, pulling him closer. His forehead rested against Sam’s sweaty, blood-splattered clothed abdomen. Ear pressed close to hear the reassuring thumping of his soulmate’s heart, even as the man stiffened in his hold.
‘Don’t be scared, don’t be scared,’ Bucky pleaded to Sam in his head. He was so emotionally raw and broken right now. Like he had gargled and swallowed broken glass the way he was so cut open inside. He simply couldn’t stomach the idea of his soulmate simply abandoning him when he was on the cusp of losing control after being so close to giving in to the ‘Asset’.
Bucky felt Sam shifting above his head, but before he could question it, he felt callous fingers hesitate before gently messaging the back of his head. The brunette let out a wet laugh, full of tears, as his soulmate instinctively began to comfort him. Touch-starved, he had no defense against such care, so he melted against Sam even further.
Eyes closed; he had no delusions that some part of Sam wasn’t afraid of him. He had killed before. Had even hurt Sam before. Even at this moment, Sam’s body seemed slightly stiff in his hold. His fingers had trembled as the black man began to message his scalp and scratch slowly and carefully behind his ear. But this moment felt righter than realizing he was ‘Captain America’s long-lost childhood friend Bucky Barnes’.
It grounded him in a way that made him not feel so lost and alone.
This was more than twenty years in the making. He found him. Or more like, this man had found him. His soulmate.
Bucky wanted to say something, anything to reassure this strange, but all too familiar man that he was worth all that faith poured into him.
He was still dangerous. God, he was trembling too with the very idea that if Sam had been four beats slower, then it would be his soulmate’s dead body lying still on the floor, and he wouldn’t even know except for the missing words on his thigh. But now he didn’t have to think about that because his vengeful, Angel of Death created this blood bath to save him. Murmured those words that he had stared at with a compact mirror when he was still just another cocky boy from Brooklyn. Bucky had continued to look at the words for quiet reassurance when Bucky reluctantly became the lean, mean boogey man that was whispered about over half a decade.
Those words had saved him. Reassured him when his waking hours were only filled with another mission, another kill, another harsh resetting before he was put back on ice; that out there was someone who belonged to just him. That would love him; save him; make him whole. Saw him as James Buchanan Barnes and not the monster that he secretly called himself when he finally was old enough to realize how significant those words were.
He was right there in front of him, in color and high definition. High cheekbones and a worried gape-tooth smile. Fingers muffled by cloth gloves, still petting his head, even when Bucky lifted his head up to see more of Sam. Their eyes locking instantly and tuning everything else out.
His savior would know how significant this moment truly was as soon as the brunette finally said his first, meaningful words to him. No simple ‘hi’ or ‘hello sweetheart’ would do. It had to be the kinds of words that would touch his very soul and make his mark visible to everyone to see. But just as he opened his mouth unsure, yet knowing whatever his first meaningful words would be, they’d already be tattooed on some part of that hard body, the man slapped him. Not hard. Just enough for him to feel it.
Bucky eyes widened comically in confused hurt and his mouth wanted to murmur some form of protest, even as he tightened his hold on Sam. His drugged fogged brain couldn’t understand why his soulmate could say such impassioned words one minute and then slap him the next. Did he regret them already? The trained assassin’s tongue felt thick in his mouth at the roguishly, sexy gaped tooth smile suddenly thrown his way. It was more than a little distracting.
“Now that… that was because my car insurance skyrocketed because you ripped off the roof and steering wheel of my car. I tried to argue act of God, but that sure as hell wasn’t Jesus taking the wheel,” the man huffed, clearly peeved, but amused. It was clear that Steve’s new wingman, had somewhat already forgiven him and was now inviting him to share in the joke after some well-deserved retribution. “My name is Samuel Wilson by the way. But you can call me Sam,” he offered, before holding out his hand.
‘Sam, sam, sam. My Sam. My soulmate,’ he couldn’t help but think.
It was unclear to Bucky if it was to be shaken or used to lift him up out of his chair. He was quite comfortable sitting here with Sam straddling him. Even if it was surrounded by a room of his dead tormentors. But for a chance to touch more of him, Bucky slowly uncoiled his arms from around Sam. Then reached for that hand like the lifeline it felt like.
Sam’s one, unclothed hand was big, calloused and warm as it wrapped around his own clammy hand. Bucky left out a huff of air in amusement, unused to laughing in the 70 odd years he had been on ice. Yet, the reassuring squeeze told him that Sam understood him enough to once more reassure him before tugging him up to a standing position.
Bucky only had time to register the hard body he had fallen up against before he was reaching for Sam’s gun in his holster. The murmur of protest barely left Sam’s lips. The man’s muscles instinctively stiffening even as Bucky pulled the trigger and watched with silent reassurance as the bullets met its target and the two Hydra agents, that thought to sneak up on them, fell dead in an ungraceful heap.
Curious brown, looked at him, really looked at Bucky as tension ebbed slowly from his tense smile. Another sexy gap-toothed smile was freely given for being proven wrong and Bucky wanted to kiss him. Wanted to kiss those lips and feel the scratch of facial hair. Wanted to murmur so many different words, words of thanks, of acceptance, of urgency. But for now he just offered Sam a ghost of smile before deftly taking bullets from Sam’s ammo pouch and adding more bullets. Then he passed Sam’s gun back to him.
A silent ‘here’ was implied as he pressed it into his warm palm before he grabbed the other hand and began to run. They needed to run. They needed to get out of there because now that Bucky found his Sam, he couldn’t lose him. Sam was going to put him back together again and that wasn’t going to happen here in this God-Forsaken place. He took a single step forward before he grimaced and began to unlatch his bionic arm. His nerves attached to his shoulders screamed at being unproperly pulled as he let the dead weight of that metal arm drop to the dirty floor.
“Do I need to know why?” Sam questioned as he stood otherwise silent at his side, ready to take his lead when necessary.
“Caught last time. Tracking device inside,” Bucky murmured briskly, pointing his chin to the arm. He wouldn’t be at his best with one arm. Especially when the other arm was stronger and could easily knock a grown man across the room like they were a rag doll. However, he’d rather lose it in order to gain a freedom he vaguely remembered having once upon a time.
Sam paused, ignoring the look of urgency on Bucky’s face to grab a worn red book that one of the dead scientists were reading the kill switch words from and the Winter Soldier in him stiffened.
“Don’t worry man, we are taking it now so none of your enemies can have it. You can burn it later when we are out of here,” Sam reassured. Another squeeze, another gap tooth smile, and then they were off. Down one corridor and through another. Occasionally they’d run into a straggling soldier and either Sam or Bucky, he had grabbed a gun off a dead Hydra guard, would shoot.
“Bucky? Is that you?” cried out Steve when they finally made it out of the hideout.
“Yes,” Bucky said reluctantly. He didn’t want to say more. Didn’t want to draw closer. He wasn’t sane. He wasn’t safe. He was still a danger that could lash out if handled improperly.
Bucky was happy to know that by some miracle Steve was alive and well. He couldn’t believe that despite so many years that had passed, Steve seemed as youthful and upbeat as the day of their fateful parting. But even though he was happy to see his pal, a large, ugly, part of him didn’t want to forgive Steve for abandoning him. He thought he was dead. He didn’t look for him. He had wandered so long crying out for his friend before Hydra found and collected him.
So, he stayed close to the bemused Sam, close-lipped and wanting to save the right words for Sam.
Sam sensing this carefully slung his arm around Bucky’s waist. He went about it slowly, telegraphing his movement with exaggerated slowness in case the man wanted to back away. Bucky didn’t. He melted closer, head tucked against his soulmate’s shoulder. Eyes closed and welcoming sleep to claim them the moment they sat down in the airplane.
“It’s okay man… We can debrief later,” Sam reassured the moment Steve was ready to protest. He could understand where his leader was coming from, but Bucky was a former prisoner of war that needed to be handled carefully. “I’m just glad our search is over,” he murmured in relief. He couldn’t fathom why Bucky being so close to him felt so right. But they fit so well like a missing jigsaw piece you find and snap right into place.
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I'm Friends with the Monster That's Under My Bed