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They’re the last ones to make it out of the factory. They’re bruised and cut and limping—or Bucky is, at least; Steve looks like new, minus the rips in his jacket and a couple of soot smears—but they’re alive and whole. They don’t stop running until they make it to the clearing in the woods where all the other prisoners are waiting. Bucky stops, bent in half, hands on his knees as he struggles to get his breath back. Steve isn’t even winded. Bucky has a lot of questions about that, but for now, he just looks up at his friend through sweat soaked bangs and grins.
Steve’s face looks like it’s about to split in half, and he all but tackles Bucky. They go down hard, and Jesus Christ, that smarts, but Bucky’s too happy to care. He’s out of that God forsaken factory, and Steve is here. Steve busted him out.
The other men are standing around, some of them laughing. “Your brother, Jimmy,” Dum Dum asks.
Bucky hates when Dum Dum calls him that. But he’s in too good of a mood to do anything about it now. Maybe later he’ll punch him or smack him over the head with Steve’s extremely patriotic shield. “Close enough,” Bucky says, hooking am arm around Steve’s neck, pulling him in a headlock and rubbing his knuckles into Steve’s hair, sending it in a wild mess.
“Bucky,” Steve whines, and that’s a really big relief. Because Steve looks different, so incredibly different, but he still sounds the same. With a laugh, Steve rolls off him and climbs to his feet, holding out a hand to help Bucky up. He takes it, and he doesn’t manage to hide the wince at the strain it puts on his already too abused ribs. Steve sees it and frowns. He fishes into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out some mess of wires and twisted metal. He gives the thing a displeased look and turns to the men.
“All right, fellas, looks like we can’t give our ride out a call, so we’ve got a walk ahead of us. What do we have in the way of transportation and supplies?” And everyone chimes in with what they picked up. Just about all of them managed to snag a gun or two, and there’s a tank that Dum Dum is very proud of and a couple of trucks.
Steve gets his bearings, hollers for the tank to lead the way, and orders all the injured into the trucks. Bucky slips into the crowd while Steve is ushering them along. He doesn’t need the fretting, and Steve should just concentrate on the others. There’s no medic, at least not anymore. The guy in their company died about a week ago on the factory floor. Steve’s about as close as they’ve got. His mother was a nurse, so he knows a lot from having watched her work.
They stop for rest around sunrise, and that’s when Steve finally breaks through and finds Bucky. He’s got the medical kit from the truck in his hand, and Dum Dum, the traitor, says as he passes by, “Might want to stick Jimmy up in the bus, Captain.”
“Oh, I’ll be trying,” Steve assures him. “Shirt off, Buck.”
“I’m fine,” Bucky complains. He’s not, but he doesn’t want anyone worrying over him. Not even Steve. “Just kind of sore.”
“Broken or cracked ribs,” Dum Dum says. Seriously. Bucky is going to break his nose.
“Bucky,” Steve scolds, and Lord, what is he, Bucky’s ma?
“Not to mention the pneumonia,” Dum Dum adds.
“What,” Steve cries, his hand tightening over Bucky’s arm, and Bucky winces. “You’ve got what? Are you insane, Bucky?”
“It’s not a big deal,” Bucky insists. “It’s just walking. It’s not going to do anything.”
And Steve goes suddenly tense. He’s just staring at Bucky with this look, and it’s just about the worst one he’s ever gotten. Not even his mother could have ever made him feel this bad. And then, Steve’s expression is cold, and he doesn’t say anything, but he yanks off Bucky’s shirt none too gently, ignoring the cry of pain. He slams the kit down, and Dum Dum hurries off, not willing to insert himself into this fight anymore.
Bucky glares after him. He started it; he should at least stick around to take some of the heat. “Steve,” Bucky starts, but Steve’s slapping antiseptics and bandages on him, and shit, that stings. He almost wants to say something, to make a joke, but Steve—Steve looks really angry.
Steve leans down to press his ear against Bucky’s back, and Bucky knows to breathe in deeply. It hurts. He’s about to do something—anything—to break the silence when Steve says quietly, “Just because you aren’t bed ridden doesn’t mean pneumonia isn’t dangerous.”
And suddenly Bucky pulls his head out of his ass and feels awful. Shit. How could he have said that? Steve’s mother. “Steve, shit, Steve, I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“
“Yeah, I know you didn’t,” Steve says, his forehead still resting on Bucky’s back. “You’re just a stubborn ass.”
“Yeah,” Bucky says. Shit.
“You just—you can’t do things like this, Bucky,” Steve says. “I mean, I heard about Azzaro, and you were MIA, possibly KIA, and shit. I just—I didn’t know if you were alive, and I—I might have gotten here and you were dead. And what if this gets you?”
“It’s not gonna, Steve,” Bucky says, turning and wrapping his friend in a hug. It’s so strange. Steve is so much bigger now. “I’m gonna be fine. You got me out of that freak show’s lab. I’m going to be fine.”
“Yeah,” Steve says, pulling back and rubbing the heel of his hand at his eye. “Yeah, just do me a favor, all right? Ride on the truck for a few days.”
“I think I can manage that,” Bucky says. He pulls over his shirt, and Steve is much nicer helping him get it back on. He settles in, leaning heavily on Steve. “So, you gonna tell me what they were feeding you in training to get you like this now?”