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There were few times when Bucky felt comfortable or just content while he was under the torturous rule of Dr Zola and there was no wonder why. Either he was being brainwashed into assassinating or tortured, pushed to the limit so that HYDRA had a puppet whose strings they could tug. The time when this was not the case was when Bucky was cryogenically frozen, too unaware to have felt the relaxing concept of not being on edge, too soon would he be back in action as the Winter Soldier to have any time in between.
And then came the days when he lived with his best friend again. Steve tried to make the flat that they shared as nice, quiet and stress-free as he could, but that was unsettling. In the silence, every sound would make Bucky halt. His keen eyes sort out the source of the noise and, if he could not find it, his heart would race for ages after, to the point that he’d just press his ear to his metal arm and listen to it whir so not to hear anything more. While, back when the arm was first made a part of him, Bucky had a resentment for it beyond any kind he’d ever felt for anything, it now was comforting to have, to touch and to listen to, oddly like a gun under his pillow that could protect him no matter who might walk in the room.
In fact, Bucky struggled so much to feel anything but tense. Nights, he sat awake in his room, not on the bed- that was too soft- but on the chair beside it. During the day, he’d help Steve as much as he could with whatever he could, yet, for the most part, he felt useless. He was worn out, highly-strung and just begun to think that Steve would be better off without him taking up space.
Then came the night when he had dropped off to sleep. It was a weak, light sleep that did nothing for his fatigue and would be broken at the simplest of noises or movements. He kept fazing in and out of this consciousness, not really knowing of he had been asleep too seconds before or his brain had only just taken into account that his eyes were open, staring at the doorway, but it was this night when he had a dream, something he thought he was incapable of doing nowadays. He dreamt of a hazy road surrounded either side by trees. He heard the engine of a car in front of him and a nosier one from a motorbike that he seemed to be riding. He watched, helpless as though the bike were controlling him, the car swerved, hitting several trees by the side of the road. He got off the bike and walked to open the front passenger side door of the car. Staring back at him from in there was a woman all dressed up and an elderly looking man. They both were horrified, faces dripping with blood and the distinct look of fear in their glassy eyes. Bucky couldn’t control his own arm as it rose, hand holding a gun, and proceeded to shoot them both as their pleas for help rung in his ears. With the sound of the gunshots, Bucky awoke, yelling.
His eyes shot open. He would have been ok had he not known that the dream may not have been a figment of his imagination rather than one of his missions. Real tears like he had never cried ran down his cheek, not in sadness, but in fury. How dare someone use his body, wipe his mind and force him to do the dirty work. His eyes were so full of tears that he only saw Steve running to the doorway blurred and distorted.
“Buck, are you alright? I heard you…” Steve said sounding panicked and sleepy. So not to allow any more sobbing (which would be far too embarrassing) Bucky bit his lip as Steve walked over and knelt by his side. It was somewhat funny to think that, once upon a time, he would not have needed to kneel to comfort Bucky, he was already short enough. Gently, he brought up his hand, which Bucky briefly flinched away from, and knotted his fingers in his friend’s long, shaggy hair. He brushed out the tangles and, with his free hand, wiped Bucky’s cheeks. He didn’t say anything, he simply waited.
“I… can’t… sleep.” Bucky managed, though it was not what he really wanted to say. He wanted to say sorry, to tell Steve what he dreamt and everything that crossed his mind and that he couldn’t purely feel comfortable in any aspect of his existence, but all that came out of his mouth was; “Every time I do… I… wake up…” Steve sort of understood that ‘waking up’ was not what he meant. It was evident that a nightmare had dragged him out of his slumber.
“Well, do you want to try sleeping in my bed like we used to when we were kids?” Steve seemed to have shook off the tiredness in one firm shrug in order to help his friend. He was smiling, his eyes were their usual bright blue, even in the dark light. Bucky, unsure if speaking again would make him cry, nodded to Steve’s questions and allowed the super soldier to drag him out of the chair.
They dove under the duvet, shivering as the night had stolen all of the body warmth once stored under there while Steve was sleeping. They lay side by side, awkwardly, with their eyelids fluttering shut, then open again while they waited for the bed to warm up again. When it did, all that was left of Bucky’s discomfort was the memory of his dream and the soreness of his red eyes. He did also feel just a little lonely, being beside someone, but feeling too awkward to actually touch them. Steve had said it would be like when they were kids, but they used to fall asleep in the same bed, at least their shoulders brushing or backs pushed against one another’s. So, really, what Bucky wanted was a hug.
“This isn’t much like when we were kids…” Bucky observed, quietly. Steve turned his head to look over, half grinning, half looking curious.
“Yeah well, we’re both really different now.” He replied, “I mean, you’re practically a cyborg and I’m a…”
“A body builder by the looks of it.” Bucky cut in. He was now giggling just a little.
“But I guess you didn’t mean like that.”
“Nope. I meant, it’s not like when we were kids because we haven’t spent most of the night playing stupid made up games and then falling asleep because it’s, like, four in the morning.” Bucky met Steve’s gaze with a very weak grin, the best one he could manage.
“And we’re not hugging.” Steve remarked. So, Bucky was not the only one to miss the times that they used to… man hug. If the truth be told, there was nothing ‘manly’ about it because being manly never mattered to either of them. Hugging begun as a way they both got over difficult times in their child to early adulthood. There were times when they both needed that physical contact and there was nothing wimpy or silly about that. Eventually, an embrace became a natural thing as it would be for brothers- those who were really close, of course. Without a word needing to be spoken, Steve turned his whole body around and enveloped Bucky in a mass of thick muscles that made him feel safe or, dare he admit it, comfortable.