Chapter Text
Azzano, Italy, 1940s.
The sounds of explosions shook his body to its very core. There was so much confusion. Men yelled and the sounds of bullets pierced the night air. He hoped that he and his fellow soldiers would come out alive.
Running through the open field, Bucky and the rest of his unit moved swiftly, avoiding the nearby blasts of bombs. They fired their weapons, managing to hit enemies on the other side of the field.
Seeing a trench, Bucky jumped into the hole and ducked for his life. His helmet hung crookedly on his head as he breathed heavily. He wished he could be anywhere else but here. He wished he was in your arms.
As he sat there in that muddy trench, he briefly wondered what you were doing back home in the apartment. He missed being with you and having your presence envelop his very being.
Were you out working a late shift at work? Maybe you were at home, dancing alone to the tunes of your favorite songs. Or, possibly thinking of him as you played with your necklace. It didn't matter what you were doing. Just thinking of you drowned out the screams of pain and the echoes of missiles ripping through the battlefield.
The yelling of his comrade brought him back to reality. His blue eyes snapped up to the face of his weary friend. He needed to concentrate on the battle. There would be no point in getting himself killed and never seeing you again.
Raising his gun, Bucky fired his weapon into the darkness. He'd come back home. He had to believe he would.