Chapter Text
"So," And it begins.
A swallow, hard and uncomfortable. "…So?"
Bucky sighs. It's so tired and weary it makes Sam outwardly cringe. "You've got mermaids living in your backyard."
But, in his own defense, "Well, it's not really my backyar—"
"You've got two, man-eating mermaids living in your backyard, and they've got my arm and they've taken multiple chunks out of my ass."
Bucky says it matter of factly, looking straight ahead while sterile medical equipment sounds on and on.
Sam tries not to put his gaze on him for longer than 2 minutes, less his guilt swallow him whole and compromise him, especially in a situation like this. Bucky's been bandaged practically from head to toes, actual skin barely visible with wires and cords flowing to and from him while neither of them turn a single eye to the space where his prosthetic should be. And it's all a reminder to Sam that yes, this is his fault. At least to some degree.
Briefly, Sam wonders what they've done with the prosthetic. Did they playfully chew on it until they got bored? Bury the shiny silver metal thing for later? Destroy it outright, even? They have the means to do it without much fuss, after all.
Sam's doesn't know what to say. If there's anything to say. This is not the most ideal of situations, to say the least.
So he settles for being earnest. For telling the truth.
"They aren't dangerous."
Bucky turns to face him, blinking rapidly. "What."
Sam swallows, holds his ground, "Tony and James; they aren't dangerous."
The expression on Bucky's face is beyond disbelief, beyond pure betrayal, "Are you—are you fucking—they have names—no," he turns his head away from Sam, staring at his clear lack of a left arm, "Sam, one of them lured me back there. I went back there because I thought it was you, and it fucking wasn't and now—" a breath, too quick, not enough, "—Sam I am missing parts of my body! And you're telling me they're not dangerous?"
Sam settles a hand on Bucky's bandaged up remaining arm. He does not squeeze, just lets it rest, just lets it be there. "I'm telling you the truth."
A sigh. Tiredness. Exhaustion.
"Sam, what the hell have you been up to?"
"…It's a long ass story."
"Well, we've got time."