:.:

Not many patients refuse to leave their rooms.

The ward is unusually bright. It has a cheerful atmosphere, and patients are frequently seen mingling together. It helps, the therapists say, If they're talking, that's a very good sign. The therapists say a lot of things. The therapists say nice things, like, –– Oh, oh, Bucky! You're reading one of my favourite novels. You have a wonderful taste in books, obviously. –– but, sometimes, they say really mean things too, –– Bucky, are you not listening to me? Are you being difficult? You know you can't eat your food if you refuse to sit upright? Bucky, do you remember what we do with those who misbehave? You don't want to go back there, do you?

Bucky yells.

Bucky throws tantrums.

Bucky cries.

They don't know Bucky. They're not familiar with his history, the torture Hydra forced upon his fragile, pretty head. They don't know he is a soldier in the second world war. They don't know he used to smile. They don't know he used to be a gentleman. They don't know he used to love, and that he was a very, very dear friend.

The blanket is never seen off his shoulders. A blue, soft blanket. It's his comfort.

Steven gave him the blanket.

The blanket smells like Steven: his aftershave, the coffee he loves so much, and peppermint.

For three days, Bucky doesn't eat. They call in Captain America to come and save him.

'Are they still calling you that?' Bucky asks, grinning.

'Yep,' Steven replies. He sits down opposite him. Bucky is in bed, back pressed against the wall, blanket on his shoulders. 'You need to eat. You must be starving.'

'Ah. The nurses must've told you.'

'That's right, they did. So –– Bucky, eat.' Steven passes over a plate of toast. 'This was specially prepared for you. Do you want jam? I'll ask and see if they have strawberry. I know that's your favourite––'

'I'm not hungry.'

Steven hesitates, then puts the plate aside. 'It's good toast.'

'They're coming back for me.'

'What? Who are?'

Bucky winces. He pulls at the blanket. 'You know who.'

Hydra. They're coming back. They'll find him. They'll hunt him down. They'll take him away and perform more experiments on him and oh, God, he can't take anymore! Tears sting his eyes, and he angrily wipes them away. He can't cry. He won't cry. Crying is bad. Crying makes the nurses panic and then the doctors give him more horrible medicine which numbs him and makes him sleepy and sick and and and––

'Whoa, whoa,' Steve comes close, much too close, and holds his friend's shoulders. 'Bucky, calm down. No one is coming after you, all right? I've made sure of that. You know I've got your back. I won't let anything happen to you.'

It doesn't make any sense.

Bucky wants to believe him.

Bucky wants to believe him. Steven is all he has. Steven is his everything. Steven is the only person who gives him reason to wake up in the morning. Because this life, this life Bucky is now forced to crawl through, is Hell. Every day, every night, he is haunted. He can't shake off what happened to him. He can't shake any of it off. It won't come off. He's washed himself so many times, scrubbed his skin so hard he's made himself bleed.

The blood, the sin, the vivid, terribly vivid, memories –– they're not coming off my body.

His eyes are beautiful.

His eyes. Steven's eyes are glowing. Bucky has missed those eyes.

Such lovely, wonderful eyes.

'You're going to leave me. You're going to go.'

'Bucky.' Steven swallows. Then he inhales deeply. It's not impatience. It's fear. It's sadness. Steven's heart is breaking again. And he's sick of it breaking over and over again. Every time he comes here, his heart shatters.

Look. Look what they have done to him.

That cursed corporation. Those Devils.

Steven doesn't hate.

But what he feels for Hydra –– it's close enough.

What can he say?

What is he supposed to say?

I miss you. I miss you, my love. Every day. All the time. I miss you. I love you, I love you and I love you. And I will always love you.

'I'm so sorry,' Steven stutters, and his body reacts.

A cry is desperate to rip through his throat, but he restrains himself. It takes so much effort to keep himself under control. To not go insane himself. To not fall into the madness his dearest has gone. He can't follow Bucky into this dark, spiralling void of nothing but despair and terror. All those faces. Those ugly, demented faces. The needles. The white lab coats. The faces. The horrible, horrible faces of those scientists.

Bucky tenses. He didn't want to upset him. Not again.

His hands hold the back of Steven's head. They breathe together. Steven scrunches his eyes shut, and clenches his jaw. This is what has become of Bucky. A mess, a deranged, disturbed and sweet young man.

Their fingers intertwine, and they squeeze their hands together.

Wait five seconds.

One, two, three, four––

'I don't know how to let you go.'

––five.

Steven falls to his knees. Bucky's lungs begin to hurt –– he needs air, he needs release, he needs room to breathe –– and they kiss.

A kiss amongst many others.

Hidden and secret.

Forbidden.

They kiss. And kiss once more.

Everywhere. Steven is everywhere. All over. His breath, his lips, his hands, his hair, his nose, his chest. Bucky tugs at his collar. Their mouths hover, Steve gasps, reaches for another kiss, but they stop. They breathe. They fall together.

'If you let me go, darling, I won't survive.'

Steven rests his forehead against Bucky's. He lets out a sob, knotting his hands in Bucky's hair. They're still, wrapped in each other's embrace, and they're still.

Ever so still.

The moment is short. Beautiful, but short. Neither dare waste it.

Eventually, time crashes into them.

Steven's hands slip from Bucky's jacket, pass the blanket, and he's on his feet. He's tall, marvellous, heroic, and damaged.

'I'll come back for you. Every time.'

He believes him. He believes him. He believes him.

Steven exhales. He's not quite ready yet.

He reaches over and they kiss roughly, but it ends far too soon. Bucky watches Steven turn away and walk out. He can still smell the peppermint, the aftershave, can still taste him on his lips. The warmth of his voice fades into the walls, and Bucky waits.

Waits.

Waits.

:.:

author's note: This ship is a very beautiful ship and I'm ashamed to have just realised that. Obviously this is an alternate universe where Bucky actually goes insane after the events concerning Hydra. I hope I did all right. This is my first shot at these two, and it was very interesting to write about. Please do leave feedback. Thanks very much!