In high school Sam’s guidance counselor had told him that he should always have a plan for where he would be in 18 months. The further away he got from high school, the more convinced he was that she had been full of shit.
18 months after he ended his service, he was going to grad school during the day and working as a church custodian on nights and weekends. 18 months after he moved to Washington he was two-timing the VA with Steve Rogers’ Assassin Retrieval Service. 18 months after he admitted he was going to be mostly-full-time Avengering, he was an internationally-wanted criminal, although through no fault of his own thank you very much. Not to mention that he went from hooking up with Steve’s annoyingly-hot other best friend, to swearing that he was done with all that (and keeping on doing it anyway), to Bucky slipping him candy bars and English-language paperbacks and showing up to save his ass like a knight on a shitty motorbike. And then there was the thing with the aliens, and next thing Sam knew he was looking at apartments with Bucky Barnes, because it turns out when you’re an internationally-wanted criminal you lose your house.
Sam was used to something happening every time he thought he had his life figured out. He was used to rolling with it.
He didn’t know when he’d felt this lost.
The maroon scrubs they had given him made Bucky look too pale. If he was a patient Sam would describe him as subdued, which was a problem. Bucky had a quiet watchfulness about him that Sam had at various times found creepy, annoying, and comforting. Now, he would react if someone moved or spoke to him, but the rest of the time he was staring into space, mouth slightly open.
The doctor on call was a slight woman with big glasses named Dr Luiz, pronounced “Lewis” because what the hell did Sam know. When she introduced herself as Rebecca Bucky automatically said, “That’s my sister’s name.” It might have been the sentence with more than three words Sam had heard out of him. He got half-way through saying he wanted to see a sketch artist on the way over, but then he threw up into a bag.
The first thing Dr Luiz had done was look around and demand, “Can we get less people in here, please.” The mess of medical personnel had cleared out, as had the MPs, although not without an argument. Dr Luiz, it sounded like, had pulled rank and patient confidentiality.
Sam stayed out of it because right now for him, there were three options: try and run this show (bad), go into the hallway and start crying (bad, but appealing), or stay calm, keep himself under control, and give Bucky whatever he needs.
What Sam kept thinking of, even when he tried not to, was a one-to-one he had done back at the VA with a long-term group member who told him about being raped when she was in the Army. What he kept coming back to was her saying that the worst part was going to the hospital after. That she had never felt so ashamed, exposed, or alone.
Bucky was hooked up to every kind of monitor known to man and maybe a few more. A sample of his blood had been rushed off for testing. They were all doing some version of wait and hope. Wait and trust the serum, maybe.
“I want to talk about how you’re feeling. On a scale of one to ten, with zero being no pain and ten being the worst pain imaginable, how much does it hurt right now?”
“It’s four,” Bucky said slowly, “I think.”
“Oh, come on!” Sam burst out and he didn’t know who he was snapping at, Dr Luiz for throwing the useless as fuck pain scale out there or Bucky for giving the wrong answer.
Bucky actually turns to look at him. “She said worst pain imaginable.”
On the other side of the hospital bed, Dr Luiz said calmly, “Okay. So that was a stupid question.”
They got somewhere by going off the script. Bucky kept asking when they could start taking evidence, and Dr Luiz ket saying that she wanted to make sure Bucky was okay first, and Sam kept clenching his jaw to stop himself from breaking in. When asked how much it hurt Bucky said he was “uncomfortable,” but refused to lie on his side for the third time, and Sam didn’t say that he was still understating it and really, the patient should be on their side already.
Dr Luiz wasn’t cold, but she was good with euphemisms. Very professional. Six ways to avoid saying “gang rape.” It was like one of those group sessions where everyone has to say “the event” instead of “when we got blown off the road by an IED” and “engaged in a coping mechanism” instead of “I’m drinking again,” except a thousand times worse.
What was a thousand times worse was the number of times Bucky answered, “I don’t know.”
One of the MPs announced his entrance by rapping on the door, but not much else. “Captain Rogers is here.”
Bucky pushed himself from leaning back to sitting upright so fast that half the monitors started making noise and Sam automatically reached to push him back. “Is he outside?”
“He’s in the building, on his way.”
Luiz was halfway off of her stool, eyes fixed on Bucky while she made a shooing motion at the MP. “What’s wrong?”
Sam hadn’t expected Bucky to whip around and grab him by the arm, and when it happened he almost jerked back with surprise. For an insane split second he wondered what if they brainwashed him?, then Bucky pulled him close. All Sam could see was everything that was wrong. The slight tremor in his right hand. The wildness of his eyes. The thin sheen of sweat and the pallor of his skin. “Sam. You have to stop him.”
“Hey.” Sam used his most soothing voice. Just think of him like a patient, any patient who’s in shock and needs to calm down. “Steve’s here because he’s worried about you. He wants to see you.”
“I know. You can’t let him in, Sam. Don’t let him see me like this.”
Re: No Saltwater Lake (5/?)
18 months after he ended his service, he was going to grad school during the day and working as a church custodian on nights and weekends. 18 months after he moved to Washington he was two-timing the VA with Steve Rogers’ Assassin Retrieval Service. 18 months after he admitted he was going to be mostly-full-time Avengering, he was an internationally-wanted criminal, although through no fault of his own thank you very much. Not to mention that he went from hooking up with Steve’s annoyingly-hot other best friend, to swearing that he was done with all that (and keeping on doing it anyway), to Bucky slipping him candy bars and English-language paperbacks and showing up to save his ass like a knight on a shitty motorbike. And then there was the thing with the aliens, and next thing Sam knew he was looking at apartments with Bucky Barnes, because it turns out when you’re an internationally-wanted criminal you lose your house.
Sam was used to something happening every time he thought he had his life figured out. He was used to rolling with it.
He didn’t know when he’d felt this lost.
The maroon scrubs they had given him made Bucky look too pale. If he was a patient Sam would describe him as subdued, which was a problem. Bucky had a quiet watchfulness about him that Sam had at various times found creepy, annoying, and comforting. Now, he would react if someone moved or spoke to him, but the rest of the time he was staring into space, mouth slightly open.
The doctor on call was a slight woman with big glasses named Dr Luiz, pronounced “Lewis” because what the hell did Sam know. When she introduced herself as Rebecca Bucky automatically said, “That’s my sister’s name.” It might have been the sentence with more than three words Sam had heard out of him. He got half-way through saying he wanted to see a sketch artist on the way over, but then he threw up into a bag.
The first thing Dr Luiz had done was look around and demand, “Can we get less people in here, please.” The mess of medical personnel had cleared out, as had the MPs, although not without an argument. Dr Luiz, it sounded like, had pulled rank and patient confidentiality.
Sam stayed out of it because right now for him, there were three options: try and run this show (bad), go into the hallway and start crying (bad, but appealing), or stay calm, keep himself under control, and give Bucky whatever he needs.
What Sam kept thinking of, even when he tried not to, was a one-to-one he had done back at the VA with a long-term group member who told him about being raped when she was in the Army. What he kept coming back to was her saying that the worst part was going to the hospital after. That she had never felt so ashamed, exposed, or alone.
Bucky was hooked up to every kind of monitor known to man and maybe a few more. A sample of his blood had been rushed off for testing. They were all doing some version of wait and hope. Wait and trust the serum, maybe.
“I want to talk about how you’re feeling. On a scale of one to ten, with zero being no pain and ten being the worst pain imaginable, how much does it hurt right now?”
“It’s four,” Bucky said slowly, “I think.”
“Oh, come on!” Sam burst out and he didn’t know who he was snapping at, Dr Luiz for throwing the useless as fuck pain scale out there or Bucky for giving the wrong answer.
Bucky actually turns to look at him. “She said worst pain imaginable.”
On the other side of the hospital bed, Dr Luiz said calmly, “Okay. So that was a stupid question.”
They got somewhere by going off the script. Bucky kept asking when they could start taking evidence, and Dr Luiz ket saying that she wanted to make sure Bucky was okay first, and Sam kept clenching his jaw to stop himself from breaking in. When asked how much it hurt Bucky said he was “uncomfortable,” but refused to lie on his side for the third time, and Sam didn’t say that he was still understating it and really, the patient should be on their side already.
Dr Luiz wasn’t cold, but she was good with euphemisms. Very professional. Six ways to avoid saying “gang rape.” It was like one of those group sessions where everyone has to say “the event” instead of “when we got blown off the road by an IED” and “engaged in a coping mechanism” instead of “I’m drinking again,” except a thousand times worse.
What was a thousand times worse was the number of times Bucky answered, “I don’t know.”
One of the MPs announced his entrance by rapping on the door, but not much else. “Captain Rogers is here.”
Bucky pushed himself from leaning back to sitting upright so fast that half the monitors started making noise and Sam automatically reached to push him back. “Is he outside?”
“He’s in the building, on his way.”
Luiz was halfway off of her stool, eyes fixed on Bucky while she made a shooing motion at the MP. “What’s wrong?”
Sam hadn’t expected Bucky to whip around and grab him by the arm, and when it happened he almost jerked back with surprise. For an insane split second he wondered what if they brainwashed him?, then Bucky pulled him close. All Sam could see was everything that was wrong. The slight tremor in his right hand. The wildness of his eyes. The thin sheen of sweat and the pallor of his skin. “Sam. You have to stop him.”
“Hey.” Sam used his most soothing voice. Just think of him like a patient, any patient who’s in shock and needs to calm down. “Steve’s here because he’s worried about you. He wants to see you.”
“I know. You can’t let him in, Sam. Don’t let him see me like this.”