HYDRA knew their dirty secrets wouldn't stay secret forever. They knew that someone would break into their base, steal their Super Soldiers.
So they created failsafes.
Helmut Zemo killed the five Super Soldiers in their capsules that day. A bullet...
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SIXTEEN
The days are a blur, but the nights are even more so. The constant unceasing battle of who sleeps on the couch and who sleeps on the floor riddle most of it, preferring the pointless arguments instead of dwelling on other thoughts, or even worse, the silence. It seems neither of them bought a bed, knowing very well that they wouldn't be able to rest in them. After all, it's easy to get used to resting on hard surfaces with sixty years practice.
But on the nights that go right, they just talk. Soft, murmured whispers, both of them staring at the ceiling, or each other, just talking. Just remembering. There aren't many notably happy moments that they share, but just their thoughts. Sometimes they both used their minds, the sane parts of their minds, to escape, and it's what connected them. Their desire to leave, for so much more than this.
But the nightmares were still there.
"I can't trust my own mind," Bucky had whispered the first night, blanket strewn haphazardly across his body, dog tags resting on his bare chest. Neither of them could sleep in the early hours of the morning, too plagued with unspeakables.
Though then, despite the exhaustion in her body and her hair a bird's nest on her head and the lack of smile on her lips, when he looked towards Evelyn, her eyes were alight, and she looked more human than he'd seen her in a long time. "Then I'm asking you to trust me."
The nightmares didn't go, but they became bearable. They'd talk about them. They'd talk about the people, the ones they owe, the things they'd seen and done. It was painful... but they shared the pain. They'd done it for over half a century.
Nakajima was in the building, though, and the incessant reminder was Bucky's curse.
He always tries to stay awake longer, learning his lesson from the night at the Wilsons'. Most of the time, that part of the plan proves fruitful, Evelyn falling asleep before him. Despite it, however, he always finds himself on the couch when he wakes up. Even then, there's something comforting about it – a reminder that he's not alone.
But how long will she stay?
There were the hours that the memories became painful, when they'd silently let the tears leak from their eyes and ponder over the monsters they became. The monsters they weren't sure if they'd let go of. Those hours were the worst.
In the end, they'd just tell each other stories.
"There's something I remember," Bucky murmurs softly, breaking the hours-long silence. His arm is perched below his head, lying on his back, but even then Evelyn's not fooled by the false aura of calm and collectiveness. "It's... surprisingly clear. I've wanted to ask you about it for a while."
Evelyn's movements are sluggish as she shifts her body onto her side, turning to look at him instead, blanket pulled up to her shoulders. Something neither of them packed were pyjamas, not having expected the mission to take that long, and Bucky refused to let her sleep in her uncomfortable jeans. It's how she's found herself wearing a pair of his shorts and a shirt for the last week, but it's also not much protection against the biting cold.
