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Bucky wakes up in the dark. He can't remember his dream, but it was bad enough to make him wake up, shivering and sweating and feeling completely disoriented. Where am I? He looks around in the dark and as his eyes adjust, he sees a bedroom.

"Where am I?" he asks the otherwise empty room. No one answers him. Everything is both familiar and unfamiliar. Is it real or is it just another dream?

"Where am I?" he calls out louder, his hands shaking as he brings them to his head protectively. He hears a sleepy voice reply from outside the door.

"Bucky, you okay?" The door is pushed open slightly, and Bucky puts his left arm in front of him defensively. His eyes are wide with fear and confusion and Alexander Pierce walks in, rubbing the back of his head as though he just woke up. Bucky takes a sharp intake of breath when he sees him, recognizes him, and instantly wants to be anywhere but where he is right now. Not Pierce, not again.

"Get away from me," he growls, sitting up and backing himself against the headboard, "Don't touch me, don't touch me…" His voice is shaking and he edges towards the end of the bed.

"Hey, it's just me, come on, you're okay," Pierce says insistently, putting one arm out in front of him cautiously. "Bucky?" Bucky shakes his head. This can't be Pierce. Pierce didn't call him by his name.

"Who…?" Bucky mutters, narrowing his eyes and backing up until he hits the wall, the corner of the room. He's trapped.

"It's just me, Bucky, what's wrong?" Pierce asks with concern, and then he suddenly dissolves in front of him, and it's Rumlow, not Pierce. That would make a little more sense. But it didn't make this any better.

"No," Bucky says firmly, "Don't touch me, not again. Not again…please, I don't want you to."

"What are you talking about?" Rumlow asks in a rough voice, "I would never touch you without your permission."

"Don't lie!" Bucky shouts angrily all of a sudden, feeling and looking more like a cornered animal every time Rumlow takes another step. "You know what you did and I won't let you do it again. I won't, I won't, I won't, you can't…I'm not yours."

Rumlow stops moving towards him, holding up his hands as if in surrender. "You don't belong to anyone. You are your own person, you're free. HYDRA doesn't own you anymore."

"Then what are you still doing here?" Bucky growls before taking a swipe at his head. He remembers too many intensely uncomfortable experiences with Rumlow to trust him. Rumlow ducks and barely misses getting hit and comes up with a very hurt expression. Bucky scowls at him and curls in on himself, barely containing the energy that's screaming for him to lunge and snap his neck. Hurt him. Make him suffer the way Bucky had while Rumlow stood by and watched and then pretended to be a friend later. Everything he was was a lie.

"Bucky Barnes," Rumlow says softly, in a voice Bucky had only heard a few times from him and those were times he cared not to remember. He crinkles his nose in disgust, but Rumlow pushes on. "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, you grew up in Brooklyn, and your best friend was St - "

"Don't talk about Steve!" Bucky snarls, lunging at Rumlow, who looks surprised. He shouldn't. "You don't know him or me and I won't let you…!" He pins Rumlow to the ground, who doesn't bother fighting back, which is surprising, but also helpful. Bucky can smash his skull in in one quick move and they both know it. He pulls back his metal fist to deliver the killing blow. Rumlow screams,

"Bucky, DON'T!"

The vision breaks and Steve's face is the one Bucky's about to smash in. Bucky's determined look turns into one of horror as he breathes,

"Oh God…" and he rolls off of Steve's body, kneeling on the floor next to him. "Steve, I am so – I could have killed you…I almost…I was going to…" Steve pants as he sits up and looks at Bucky.

"Don't apologize. You didn't hurt me. You wouldn't have. I'm safe now, it's okay…" Bucky shakes his head in disagreement and leans forward. He puts both hands out in front of him to hold up his weight as he takes deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. The image won't go away now, Steve's face in front of him, about to get pummeled into the floor. Steve puts out a hand to try and steady Bucky, mentally and physically, who is now shaking violently and trying to keep down a panic attack. Bucky throws up on the rug, or maybe a more apt description would be dry heaving because he didn't eat dinner with Steve like he usually did. He chokes up water mostly, and Steve lets him ride it out before interfering. When Bucky seems done, he tries softly,

"Bucky?" Usually Bucky responds with a monotone 'That's not my name', but he can't bring himself to do it now. He decides to ignore it, sits up and stares blankly at the wall. "Buck?"

"Leave me alone," Bucky says simply, and hesitates before adding, "Please." Steve holds in a sigh as he leaves the room, respecting Bucky's wishes momentarily, before returning with a large glass of water and a small piece of chocolate.

"Drink this and eat that," Steve orders, "You'll feel better."

"I just threw that up and I don't see the use in eating chocolate."

"You need to stay hydrated," Steve pushes, "And the chocolate will give you some positive energy. It can't hurt." He gives Bucky a small smile. "For me, please?" Bucky scowls at him. The little broken 'please' always breaks his resolve and Steve knows it. Living together for six months teaches them both quite a bit about each other. They both still have a lot to learn.

That doesn't mean Bucky has to like it.

He takes the glass out of Steve's hand and downs the water. He shifts the glass into his left hand and is about to take the chocolate when he hears glass shattering. Bucky looks down, knowing what he'll see, and closes his eyes in frustration when he sees the broken water glass on in the rug and in the joints of his metal hand.

"Fuck," he curses quietly. It's the only curse word he can remember. Must be something he said a lot.

"It's alright," Steve says after a second, "I'll get it." He leans forward to start cleaning it up and Bucky whips out his right hand to stop him, forcing Steve back.

"You'll cut yourself," he says shortly, before he starts picking up the pieces gingerly with his metal hand.

"Bucky, I'm not helpless…"

"Don't call me that," Bucky growls. The name triggers pain more than anything. His animosity towards it has nothing to do with personal preference. He bats Steve's hand away impatiently and Steve swats back.

"Fine, quit it, I'm trying to help – dammit, Bucky!" Bucky shoves him away hard and picks up the pieces faster so Steve can't. Steve frowns at him and stands up when Bucky does. Bucky makes a tight fist with his metal hand and crushes the glass into dust. He pulls Steve's hand up with his right hand, opens his palm, and lets the glass dust fall into Steve's involuntarily open hand.

"There," Bucky says, "Now go."

"I'm trying to help you," Steve repeats stupidly, looking slightly hurt.

"I know. Get out." Bucky knows Steve is trying to help; he'd have to be dumb not to realize that, especially considering Steve repeats it every time something goes wrong that Bucky won't let him help with. The knowledge of Steve's intentions doesn't change how Bucky feels about the whole situation: he wants to keep Steve safe, and the only way he can do that is to keep him away from him as much as possible. He sees every day how heavy Steve's shoulders are with the weight of his responsibility as Captain America, not even taking into account the extra weight put there by Bucky's reappearance and seeming refusal to help himself. He knows Steve isn't safe with him around, nor is he healthy. He is sleep-deprived, constantly anxious, and unwilling to leave the apartment. It's only Bucky's selfish desire to be around Steve that keeps him there at all, even knowing what it's doing to Steve mentally and physically.

Steve's friends know it too. The red-haired woman who he was introduced to (who looked vaguely familiar) named Natasha, and the man with wings named Sam both come over regularly to check on Steve and (though it's never explicitly talked about) make sure he isn't dead or dying. When Bucky's out of the room and they think he can't hear them, they talk to Steve about how unhealthy it is for him to be cooped up around the apartment all the time with only one companion who will barely talk to him and gives him harmful amounts of stress and worry. They don't have a problem with Bucky himself, but rather the situation in general.

"You're nervous, aren't you?" Steve asks, breaking Bucky's train of thought and straightening up to try not looking like a kicked puppy, "About tomorrow?"

Bucky shrugs as if it doesn't matter, but he knows Steve is probably right. The nightmares aren't usually this severe and for the last month out of seven, Steve hasn't had to interfere at all to wake him up for the most part. Tonight had been particularly unpleasant.

"I think you're ready," Steve continues with a deep breath, "I believe in you. They all want to meet you and Tony and Bruce want to help maybe make your arm a bit more manageable. It'll be good for you." For both of us. He reaches out as if to touch the metal arm, but he knows Bucky doesn't like it to be touched, so he drops his hand when he remembers.

"You may even get your memories back," he says hopefully. Bucky indulges him with a small forced smile before climbing back into bed and turning over so he isn't facing him anymore. His long hair falls in his face and he doesn't move it. Steve sighs and pulls the cover up a little further over Bucky affectionately. It's the most he can do without touching him. Bucky knows, and he regrets the feeling of nausea he gets when Steve, or anyone really, touches him at all. A gentle touch that he should feel good about generates a sick feeling thanks to the guys at HYDRA whose gentle touches meant they were analyzing or about to strike him.

"Night," Steve says finally before leaving the room. Bucky waits until he's gone before he repeats under his breath,

"Night."