Chapter Text
He was right. If he was going to die now, which he was almost positive he was going to, at least he would be right.
To be fair, this was only partially his fault. He heard someone talking in German, a ham radio transmission and the rumor that there was at least one spy in the camp and that someone was going to be assigned to figure out who it was, and that leak of information was definitely not his fault. That was army guys needing to think more about what they were talking about and where they did that talking. He did decide to find out more himself, though. He was curious and always had been. Part of the Barnes charm. Besides that, if he was the one to figure out who it was—and why—he’d be something like a hero. Maybe he’d get a promotion. Or not; he was supposed to be in bed with everybody else because it was long after lights-out and this was insubordination at best. People could overlook that one small fact, though, right?
It didn’t matter anymore, because he was going to be killed. There were three German spies and God knows how they got into the camp or why this one in particular, and they all had guns and Bucky didn’t know if he could hold his breath any longer. One of them said something that sounded like the German word for “Superman,” but Bucky wasn’t sure and he couldn’t just ask them to repeat what they were saying. For some reason, he got the feeling that they weren’t talking about a guy with a cape.
18 goddamn years old and he wouldn’t even make it out of the camp. What a fucking joke. The least he could do would be make a scene—that way people would hear the gunshots, would know that something was happening, and his death wouldn’t be in vain. It was a foolish thing to think of—but then, the whole “I’m going to find out who the spies everybody’s talking about are” was pretty bad, too.
He didn’t even recognize the voices.
His legs started tensing up and there was no way he could sit still any longer. He didn’t have a gun on him, but he had a knife, and that was something, and besides that, he was fast. Maybe not “outrun a speeding bullet” fast, but fast enough that he might be able to get behind the guys. He wished he hadn’t had to run up and down that hill forty times already that week, because then maybe his legs wouldn’t have felt like Jell-O the second he got into his position. He was ready—or at least as ready as he would ever be. His heart wouldn’t stop pounding against his ribcage, wouldn’t stop trying to launch itself up into his throat or down into his gut, and if those guys had better hearing, they might have found him out by that alone. But he was ready. He said a quick kind of prayer—didn’t really know what else to do except hope that God got him out of there alive, or at the very least made sure he died quickly—and started to move—
But a hand came to his shoulder and kept him still, and another came to cover his mouth and muffle the shout of surprise he had. He had been so busy trying to figure out what to do that he didn’t even realize someone else had crept up into the hiding spot with him, and now he was really done for. Except—not. He was still alive. “They know you’re here,” a voice said against his ear, and when he turned his head, he saw the outline of Steve Rogers’ face. New guy. Bucky was confused—was Rogers another spy? No, he couldn’t be, because then Bucky would be dead already, especially if he could come up behind him so quietly. “They just haven’t figured out where you are. Stay quiet.”
Bucky didn’t know what was going on, but he nodded his head and, satisfied, Rogers took his hand away. Bucky watched him load a gun, and was surprised when it was handed to him. “Where’d you get this?”
“I talk to my superior officers before I’m going to do anything,” Rogers answered, and he reached to his side and revealed another gun. “They know you’re here, and in five seconds, they’re going to know exactly where we are. Get ready to run, and prepared to shoot.” It almost seemed like Rogers had done this before, but Bucky figured, if they made it out of there, they could talk about it later. Better listen to the guy who knows what he’s talking about (and Bucky, for once in his life, was willing to admit that he wasn’t that guy).
The gunshot rang out loud and clear like a bell alerting everybody where Rogers and Bucky were, but it hit its mark—one of the spies went down, shouting and grabbing his shoulder. The others started shooting, and if Rogers hadn’t pushed Bucky, he would have forgotten to move. But, he did. There were a couple more of them than Bucky originally thought.
“Shoot to disable—not to kill!”
Right, right. If they were spies, it would be more useful to interrogate them later. Bucky aimed for thighs. A bullet whizzed by his ear and he had to turn around to make sure Rogers was alright—but their proximity had changed, and the man was already running down to engage the spies. It wouldn’t do well to leave him alone down there, so Bucky followed him, watched him disarm the men, threw a few punches. It was over sooner than he would have thought, and while Rogers was tying up the men, he looked over at Bucky.
“Nice shooting.”
“Thanks.” It would have been the best moment to brag, to let him know how long he grew up on military bases, about his dad, everything—but it didn’t come to his tongue and even if it had, it would have felt wrong to say anything like it. He was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to, like a kid sticking their hand into a cookie jar. He wanted to say something, though, felt like there was something to say—but the noise had alerted everybody in the camp to the action and he didn’t have much time. “Thanks for saving my life.”
Rogers shrugged and smiled. “It won’t be worth much if you end up getting caught out of bed. Get out of here, Private.” There was a tiny salute and even though Bucky was sure they were of the same rank, he sent it back and went running back to his bunker. He made it there just as everybody else was filing out to try to get an idea of what was happening, and he joined the ranks soon enough that nobody realized he had been missing in the first place (but then, none of them ever did notice anyways). The commotion didn’t last for very long; the men were herded back into their bunks and watched while each flashlight went dead. No information was shared beyond “an altercation” taking place, but they would all ask around the next morning. Rumors would circulate. It was a routine.
After some time, murmurings in the dark stopped and it seemed like everybody had fallen back to sleep, trying to get a little rest before the day ahead of them. Bucky alone stared upwards, unsure of whether what had happened was even real. Who the hell was Rogers, anyways, giving orders like that? Besides, where’d he learn anything?
What would happen if he ratted Bucky out?
He couldn’t sleep, and the gunshots had left a ringing in his ear. Regardless of anything, he’d seek out Rogers the next day and demand to know everything, since he clearly had more information than Bucky ever did. He’d get to the bottom of this and hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with too many consequences for sneaking out. He tossed and turned a few more times.
Rogers was stuck with him no matter what. He couldn’t just let the guy save his life and not get a shot at saving his.