Chapter Text
Bucky woke up with stiff limbs, an aching neck, and shivering from the cold air blowing through the cracks in the floor.
Gale was still asleep, pressed close, and the small furrow of distress in his brow even when unconscious made pain fill Bucky’s little chest again. He untangled their limbs carefully so as not to wake Buck, pressing a clumsy kiss to his forehead before scooting back, wincing at the fresh aching from his bruises.
Benny’s hand still hung over the edge of the bunk and Bucky tugged at it, making Benny jolt and stick his groggy face down, messy hair going in every direction.
“You guys awake?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.
“Buck’s still sleeping,” Bucky mumbled. His voice was hoarse and it hurt a little to speak.
Benny’s face softened, and he reached out to swipe a knuckle over Bucky’s cheek. His jaw clenched when he brushed over a bruise, and he gently swiped Bucky’s loose curls back.
“Come on out. You should eat.”
It felt wrong to leave Buck alone under the bed, but his stomach twinged painfully and he shifted, looking at Buck’s still face once more before wiggling along the floor to get out. Surely a few minutes wouldn’t hurt.
When Bucky emerged and climbed to his hands and knees, face pinched from the aches in his body, Benny knelt beside him and slipped a large sweater over his head, lifting Bucky’s arms to slide the sleeves on. The wool smelled old but it was warm, if a little scratchy. Bucky wrapped his arms around himself and let Benny help him stand.
“A little oversized, but it’ll do. Got one for Buck too.”
The thickness of the knit was comforting, big enough to reach down to Bucky’s thighs and over his hands, and he blinked away the sudden tiredness. His bunk across the room looked extra inviting and he yawned widely, swaying on his feet. Benny chuckled, reaching out to ruffle Bucky’s hair.
“Go get some more sleep.”
Bucky shuffled to his bunk. Most of the other guys were still out cold, except for Crank who was heating up water at the wood stove. It felt strange to see the bunk so much bigger than he remembered it, but guessed it might be more comfortable now. It was a little difficult to climb in, but Bucky managed, pulling the blanket over himself as a hard shiver tore through him.
Soon a warm presence sat down beside him, and a big hand began rubbing his back.
“You alright?” Crank murmured. He smoothed his touch up Bucky’s arm, lifting the sweater to brush a purpling bruise.
“Does this still hurt?” he asked.
Bucky’s throat closed up. He tried to respond—it wasn’t polite to not answer a question—but when he tried to force out a sound, nothing came. His arm did hurt, and a lot of other things hurt too, but Bucky was trying so hard not to think about it that he was upset Crank brought it up. He was just making things harder.
Still unable to force anything past his wobbling lips, he turned his head towards Crank. Crank’s sad, gentle eyes met his, and a furrow appeared in his brow.
“Come here,” he said.
Sliding his arms under Bucky, Crank lifted him and moved to sit against the head of the bunk, settling Bucky into his lap, and Bucky slumped forward, pressing into Crank’s chest and shivering as the pilot’s steady arms wrapped around him. His eyes stung and throat burned but no tears fell, he just squeezed his eyes closed and tried to hide in the stiff fabric of Crank’s shirt.
Eventually Benny brought food scrounged from Red Cross packages, a biscuit with some jam and a bit of dried meat that took a long time to chew. Bucky’s stomach growled but he forced himself to eat slowly, savoring it as long as possible even though his eyes stung from the urge to gulp it down.
The other guys began to wake up, shuffling around and opening windows, and after a few moments a small arm stuck out from under Benny’s bunk. Gale’s messy hair appeared, then a dirt-smudged face
“Bucky?” came a timid voice.
Bucky sat up. “Here.”
Gale climbed to his hands and knees, then stood, hurrying to Bucky’s side and reaching out so Bucky and Crank could pull him onto the bunk. His bruises looked worse in the light, collar slipping over one shoulder and his bony limbs shivering, but he relaxed as soon as Benny slipped another large sweater onto him, and immediately curled up on Bucky’s chest, fisting his little hand in Bucky’s sweater and keeping a wary eye on the room. Feeling Gale’s weight and breathing against him calmed Bucky somewhat, and he helped Gale hold a biscuit that Benny brought him, hands cupped under Gale’s chin to avoid losing too many crumbs.
When Gale had finished this, Brady approached, shifting uncomfortably like he wasn’t sure how to act. It upset Bucky a bit—he was still himself, and Brady never had a problem with him before—but all those thoughts vanished when he spotted what was in Brady’s hand, a Red Cross chocolate bar that he broke in half and gave a piece to each of them. It was worth trying to savor, and again Bucky tried to eat as slow as possible, but Gale took one taste and shoved his entire portion in his mouth at once, choking a little and getting smears all over his cheeks.
“Slowly,” Crank admonished, stifling a grin as he thumped Gale on the back. “You really like chocolate, huh?”
He ruffled Gale’s hair, pulling out a handkerchief to swipe at Gale’s messy mouth in such a practiced move that Bucky wondered if Crank had younger siblings. Squeaking hiccups soon erupted from Gale from eating too fast, but Crank’s solution of rubbing his knuckles vigorously up and down Gale’s sides under his arms made them vanish. Full and only slightly less scared than before, Gale soon dozed off sprawled over Bucky, who was still on Crank’s lap.
Burying half his face into Crank’s chest, Bucky tried to settle despite the restless unease in his limbs, letting the activity of the waking barracks swirl around him. He dragged his finger along Buck’s cheek in nonsense patterns, staring at the tiny freckles scattered over the pale skin and to distract himself from the conversations in the room. He didn’t have much to say, or think about, and his body didn’t feel right.
“We gotta get them…turned back or whatever.” Benny was saying, voice low and strained.
Bucky touched a freckle just below the apple of Gale’s cheek. Pressed it slightly. Gale’s chest expanded with a little inhale, then let out a soft sigh that puffed warm over Bucky’s wrist. His eyes fluttered open but he didn’t move, staying perfectly still under Bucky’s hand.
“And how do we do that?” muttered Brady, accompanied by thumps of him aggressively cleaning his shoes. “Our only hope is that the scientist figures the rest of it out and turns them back.”
The rasp of a match, then Hambone’s voice muffled by a cigarette. “And we’re gonna rely on that bastard? Let him just take them again?”
“You’re not getting yourselves killed over it. If that’s what it comes down to,” said Crank.
“But look at ‘em,” said Alex quietly, pained. “Like hell we’re letting them get taken again.”
Silence fell for a while. Then Crank signed, smoothing Bucky’s hair back.
“We won’t have a choice.”
The days blurred together for Bucky.
Roll call was terrifying. He clutched Crank’s hand the whole time, shaking so hard his vision blurred and holding his breath until he nearly passed out, squeezing his eyes shut as the guards and dogs that were almost as big as he was paced around them. Buck hid his face in Benny’s leg, arms wrapped around his knee as Benny petted his head as soothingly as he could without drawing attention.
The mail delivery came and went. Bucky didn’t get a letter, so he sat quietly on his bunk, swinging his legs and tugging on the sleeves of his sweater while the others read theirs. Gale didn’t get one either, but he sat on Brady’s lap while he read the one from his mom out loud, then wiggled free to come back to Bucky.
Mornings and evenings, days and nights seemed all the same, except for the terrified times where he and Gale would wake up disoriented and with splitting headaches, aching joints, and sick stomachs. Bucky tried not to cry—mostly succeeded in keeping the water gathering in his eyes—but sometimes Gale did, quiet little sobs and tears smeared on Bucky’s neck where Gale clung to him under the bed.
Of all the things that changed about them in this whole ordeal, Gale’s behavior was the most puzzling.
He never said a word other than “Bucky,” but went around to each person in the barracks and studied them with those doe eyes of his until apparently satisfied. If he deemed someone needed something done for them or brought to them, he would try to do it, which led to a lot of blanket and item thefts from the other huts. Bucky had no idea how Gale was getting in and out without being detected, and neither did anyone else until one day Hambone loudly complained about the amount of dirt getting tracked through the barracks and insisted to know where it was all coming from. Eventually it was traced to the underside of Benny’s bunk where a loose floorboard was found dislodged and no Gale to be seen.
After a brief, guilt-ridden panic that left Bucky near tears, a knock on the door revealed a stern-faced Colonel Akira, leading by the back of the collar a very disgruntled Gale who refused to release his clutch on a knit cap he had pilfered for Daniels who had come down with a cold.
Bucky threw his arms around Gale while the guys conferred with the colonel and the rightful owner of the cap, who was more amused than upset at Gale and offered to lend the cap to Daniels anyway.
“Sly little fella,” he said, chuckling. “Followed me to the sinks and waited till I was washing my hair to snatch the cap from my pocket. Was out the door before I could chase him.”
The group concluded that without his usual negotiation and leadership skills, Gale had resorted to more desperate measures to take care of his men, so despite the trouble-causing, no one had the heart to really reprimand Gale. His bruised face and wide blue eyes—filled with barely-hidden fear and a vulnerable yearning—had all the guys hovering close and speaking to him gently, sometimes with small touches if Gale didn’t seem too afraid.
Bucky himself struggled constantly with a stormy mix of emotions that were uncomfortable on the best of days and nightmarish on the worst. He stayed mostly at Crank’s side, the other pilot being the only one that could keep a lid on Bucky’s wildly-swinging moods and keep him occupied. The carved planes Crank was always working on entranced him and he would watch Crank make them for hours, which turned out useful for bringing some peace and quiet to the barracks. Crank even gave some of them to Bucky, who lined them up on a shelf in his bunk and tried to paint them with the little bit of paints they could scrounge or make. He was quite proud of this collection, and soon Crank’s carving sessions turned into lessons as Crank guided Bucky’s hands to shape scraps of wood into little aircraft. Even if they turned out lopsided or funny-looking, Bucky loved them.
Although Gale was much more withdrawn than Bucky—even more so than he’d been before they were turned small—he still interacted with the guys and spent time sitting at the table, watching whatever anyone was doing, even if he stayed silent. He was fascinated with Crank and Bucky’s carving, and though his hands were too small for anyone to allow him near the carving knives, he would stay close for hours and watch them create, so much so that Bucky felt bad for leaving him out.
One day, Brady approached the table where the three of them were sitting, Crank and Bucky with their planes and Gale watching with his chin on his arms.
“Hey Buck, this is for you.”
He held out something small, and Gale perked up, slipping from the bench to pad over to Brady and inspect the item. Bucky let his attention stray from the models, and immediately a grin spread over his face.
It was a tiny stuffed dog, handmade from bits of blanket and rags, mismatched in color and stuffed with some sort of lumpy, soft material. Two buttons carved from wood made up the eyes, and black thread stitching made up the nose and mouth. Its floppy ears and limbs were awfully cute, and Gale’s eyes sparkled as he reached out and took it, immediately cradling it to his chest. He looked up at Brady in adoration and awe.
“Thank you,” he whispered, the first words that weren't Bucky’s name since this whole thing had started. Brady looked rather emotional but fought to overcome it by clearing his throat. He patted Gale on the head and ruffled his hair.
“No problem kiddo,” he said, voice rough.
Gale made a face at being called kiddo.
Brady chuckled. “I mean Major, sir,” he said, lightly pinching Gale’s cheek, and with a smile that brought out his dimples, Gale held out the dog to Bucky.
“Look!” he declared. “Meatball.”
Bucky grinned, petting the dog’s head. “That's a good name.”
Gale returned the toy to his chest and wrapped his arms around it, moving closer to press his side into Bucky, so Bucky wrapped an arm around him and rested his face in Gale’s hair until his chest felt tight.
No one could say how it happened.
Maybe it was the storm that moved in, bringing in the dark clouds and intermittent thunder, pouring rain, and wind gusts that blew water through the gaps in the boards. Maybe it was the bad mood that the guards had been in, afraid of escape attempts in the chaos and confining them all to barracks, circling close and pounding on the walls when a window was open too long. The damp darkness put everyone in a low mood and on edge, but for some reason Gale took it the worst.
For too long he had kept himself shoved as far under the bunk as he could go, pressed into the corner of the wall where the deepest shadows were. The guys tried coaxing him out for hours with no success, and eventually Brady and Murph tried to go after him, Murph edging himself under the bunk and trying to tug Gale out. The second his hand got a grip Gale cried out, and Murph let go in shock.
Bucky stumbled forward. “Don’t,” he begged, tugging on Murph’s shirt. “Leave him alone, he’s scared.”
Brady sighed, gently untangling Bucky’s grip. “What is he afraid of? It’s just us. He can’t stay under there, it’s wet and cold. He’ll get sick.”
Murph backed away, but Brady ducked down to reach under again, prompting a blood-curdling screech from the still-hidden Buck who had now latched onto a bedpost.
“Stop it!” Bucky wailed. “It was his dad!”
The words spilled out as he choked on a sob, clawing and pulling Brady away. “He–he beat him and wouldn’t feed him and–and made him sleep outside like an animal!” Vision blurring, his mind swirled with all the times Gale had clung to him in the dark since flight training days. “He’s always afraid someone will hurt him, and they did. Stop scaring him, please.”
Silence fell on the room.
Nobody moved, and the looks of horror on the circle of faces made Bucky suddenly realize that maybe the others didn’t know any of this before, and maybe Buck wouldn’t want them to know. It was too late now. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything, but he was so desperate to get them to leave Gale alone. They had to know Buck had been hurt in order to help him, right?
Eventually, only Benny broke the tension, quietly inching toward the bunk and lowering himself to the floor beside it. Carefully displaying every move, he laid down, pillowing his head on one arm and leaving the other slightly reached out toward Buck, stroking what he could reach of the small arm with his finger.
He murmured softly, soothing Gale when he squirmed, and all at once a wretched anger surged through Bucky—white-hot and twisted—a helpless rage that wiped all thoughts from his mind and crushed his chest. Unaware of his surroundings, he fumbled forward, gasping and panting, until someone grabbed him.
“Hey hey hey! What’s the matter?”
It was Crank, gripping his arms tightly and making Bucky look at him, but hot tears were already spilling over, making Crank’s face blurry. Bucky couldn’t answer. He didn’t know. An angry cry-turned-sob tore out of him as he thrashed in Crank’s grip.
“Lemme go!” he shrieked.
“No, Bucky wait–”
“I outrank you!”
“Not like this you don’t,” Crank retorted. “Come on, you gotta calm down.”
Bucky continued to snarl, trying to scratch and bite and kick until Solly and Hambone scrambled over to hold the rest of him down. They pinned him with their arms until he could hardly breathe, forced to feel the restraint and work hard to take in breaths.
Over long, dragged-out seconds and minutes his body began to calm down, slipping into a numb sort of drifting that took his mind with it. Gale’s wide eyes peeked at him over Benny’s shoulder, and as the rushing in his ears subsided Bucky started to hear the small, pitiful sounds leaving his own mouth with each breath.
“I know, Bucky, I’m sorry.” Crank was whispering into his hair, broken and thick. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”
It felt good to be held so tightly. So close and warm. It almost made everything else hurt less. Bucky’s eyes fluttered, body shivering intermittently like he could never completely stop it from doing. The guys had once mumbled something about shock, about kids being more susceptible to cold.
Bucky’s hands twitched, wanting to reach out to Gale, but stilled when Crank started rocking him a little. During Bucky’s outburst Gale had slunk closer to Benny, curled against his chest until a tuft of hair was the only thing visible over Benny’s shoulder.
Bucky struggled to keep his eyes open, to keep watching over him, but after a while he couldn’t do it anymore. The pang in his heart at slipping away from guarding Gale was muted, fuzzy as he faded away into the darkness of a fitful sleep.
The next day, the truck pulled through the gates again.
Erupting chaos tore Bucky from napping as a guard and a man in a white coat entered their barracks, plucking Gale from his bunk without a word as Gale screamed bloody murder, dropping Meatball. It took four more guards threatening everyone at gunpoint before they could clear the way to get out of the room, carrying Gale like a sack of potatoes as he thrashed and wailed, trying to cling to anything they passed.
They didn’t grab Bucky. They didn’t have to.
He followed the guard carrying Gale all the way to the truck and climbed in when they put Gale inside. Gale crawled to him, already crying silently and wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck as the truck started up. Bucky knew whatever was ahead of them was going to hurt, but worst of all the fear clawing at his throat was the possibility that they might try to separate them. He shoved the thought away. He would take care of Buck, he had to.
He clutched Buck tightly to him, staring out the gap in the canvas at the back of the truck as it drove through the gates. He wanted to jump out and drag Buck with him, but they couldn’t run fast; would be caught and maybe beaten. Bucky sniffed, curling himself around Gale without taking his eyes from the receding camp disappearing around a bend in the road.